The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone
by Argonaut57
Summary: On a summer evening, the career and life or Harry Potter is cut short by a snipers' bullet. As the wizard world mourns, the dark forces of the Scholomance ready themselves to make their move. Chaos is about to be unleashed on the world, and without Harry Potter to unite the opposition, how can disaster be averted?
1. Chapter 1

**The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone**

**Chapter One: Death in the Evening**

"Assassination has never changed the history of the world." (Benjamin Disraeli)

The man stepped out of the alley and into the cross-hairs. It was a late summer evening, warm and golden, and he carried the jacket of his dark suit over his shoulder with one hand. The sleeves of his pale blue shirt were rolled up, revealing wiry forearms, lightly tanned under the dark hair. The sights moved up – the man was tall – to focus on the strong, even-featured face. The eyes behind the metal-rimmed glasses were piercing and vivid green. The sniper centred the cross-hairs on the odd-looking scar on his targets' forehead, and squeezed the trigger.

_The Daily Prophet_ performed to expectations. The headlines screamed "HARRY POTTER SLAIN! Boy Who Lived Falls Victim To Muggle Assassin." But amid the fulsome obituaries and tributes to "the greatest wizard of his generation", were scattered some opinion pieces arguing that had Harry not pushed the wizard world into an unhealthy proximity with the muggle one, he would still be alive.

The muggle press, just to cover themselves, reported on the apparently motiveless assassination of a promising young detective from the Metropolitan Police.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, extended his deepest condolences to Harrys' family, and announced that Deputy Head of the Auror Section Ronald Weasley was to take over as Interim Head until his permanent appointment was confirmed by the Wizengamot. Interim Head Weasley then promised a 'full and far-reaching' investigation in which he expected the full co-operation of the Muggle authorities.

Mrs Ginevra Weasley thanked everyone for their kindness, and asked that she and her children be left in peace. Rather than floral or other tributes, she asked that donations should be made to the Dobby Memorial Home for Retired House-elves.

A memorial service was held in the great atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Colleagues, school friends, former teachers, even the Minister of Magic himself, spoke to Harrys' courage, his kindness, his victory over an abused childhood. They spoke of the long struggle against Lord Voldemort, and the hard-won victory. They heaped praise on the work Harry had continued to do afterwards. They promised solemnly that his work and his example would never be forgotten.

There was a small, private funeral in the old churchyard at Godrics' Hollow. Former journalist Rita Skeeter was caught by Ron Weasley hiding among the gravestones with a camera. She was sentenced to five years in New Azkaban for assault on an Auror, to begin after her release from St Mungos.

The fuss died down. Harry Potter was dead.

Arabella Riddle tossed her copy of the _Prophet_ onto the table in front of her with a sigh of real regret. The bulky man sitting opposite shook his head and said in a quiet, cultured voice.

"I know you wanted him alive to see our victory, Arabella, but he was far too dangerous. The route his investigation was taking was growing too close to us, too soon."

"I know, Henrich, I know." She replied with a smile. "My wishes were personal, and our joint enterprise too great to risk. But still..."

Blofeld rose from his seat and came to sit beside her. "I do understand, Arabella." He said. "Had I been permitted, I would have given you your wish. But SPECTRE has a contract with the Master, and if we are to survive, we must honour our terms."

She put her hand on his arm. "I don't hold you to blame, Heinrich. You and your people did what they had to, and did it well. Now we have larger concerns, do we not?"

He nodded, and their conversation turned to other matters. But her hand remained on his arm.

The planet Fenris lies in the galactic north of the Segmentum Solar, far from Holy Terra. It is on the very frontier of the sprawling Imperium of Man, on the borders of the Eye of Terror itself. Here the threat of Chaos is ever-present, the unending war fiercest.

Fenris itself is classed as a Death-World, barely inhabitable. Its strongly elliptical orbit around a pale, tiny sun renders its climate extreme. In the winter, day barely dawns before sunset, so distant is the sun, and the oceans freeze over, allowing men to cross on foot between the tiny islands that form the majority of its land-mass. In the short summer, those same seas literally boil as the near proximity of the sun tears open the sea-bed, unleashing white-hot magma in eruption after eruption. The islands erupt and sink, while new ones are formed in an ever-changing geography.

At the planets' north pole lies its single stable continent, Asaheim. It is there the Fenrisians dwell, descendants of ancient colonists from Holy Terra. Their world has made them tough, ferocious and warlike. The tribes of Fenris know little of the God-Emperor, and care less. They live in their clans and tribes, they hunt the fierce beasts of Fenris, make war on other tribes when they feel so inclined, and worship their own primitive gods. Even the Inquisitors of the Ordo Hereticus do not come here – the few who have did not survive.

But there is one thing, one force, that all on Fenris fear and respect. It is what causes them to tremble and make holy signs when they look to the north. There, at the centre of Asaheim, rises a mighty mountain range, where few even of the boldest tribesmen dare venture. At the centre of this range of savage, sky-piercing peaks stands one greater than all the rest, reaching almost to the edge of the atmosphere. The mountain itself is great enough, but is rendered more so by the awesome pile of granite and adamantium that almost doubles its height, so that spacecraft can dock at its peak.

This is The Fang, mightiest fortress of the Imperium, save for the Emperors' Palace. It is the home of the demi-gods the Fenrisians worship as the Sky-Warriors. The Chapter-House of the Imperiums' most feared warriors – the Space Wolves.

Deep within The Fang is the Great Hall. Here the Space Wolves gather to celebrate victory, honour the fallen or returning heroes, the coming of summer, the return of winter, or the fact that it's Tuesday. Space Wolves can usually find an excuse for eating, drinking, singing and brawling. The Hall is also the place where the twelve Wolf Lords gather in Council, to speak of matters concerning the Chapter, to plan campaigns and assign duties. Eating, drinking, singing and occasionally brawling can also be part of these sessions.

On this day, Council was interrupted, and that in an unprecedented manner. It began with a whirring, groaning noise that steadily rose in volume until it filled the great chamber. That sound was not strange to all here, for Logan Grimnar exchanged a swift, meaningful glance with the ancient Wolf-Priest, Ulrik the Slayer, before raising a hand and bellowing "Hold!"

The other Lords, who had risen, reaching for weapons, at this sign of invasion, froze in place and as one turned to their Chapter-Master. The Great Wolf gestured them back to their seats. "Sit. Wait." He commanded. "There are no enemies here."

As his vassals subsided to their chairs, a shape began to form in a corner of the Hall. Ragnar Blackmane, who was watching Grimnar as much as anything else, noted that the Old Wolf's eyes widened a little. Clearly this was not what he had expected to see.

It was a drop-pod. Not one of the large ones that can send a whole squad of armoured Blood Claws or Grey Hunters into the fray. One of the smaller ones that might hold four or five Wolf Scouts, or a single Terminator. It was in the blue of the Ultramarines, rather than the grey of the Wolves, and it had clearly not been dropped from a ship.

It rested quiet for a moment, then a section opened, a ramp extended and two figures emerged. One was a woman, an ordinary human woman, tall and strong of her kind, but tiny compared to the Adeptus Astartes around her. She had dark hair, a strong, handsome face and wore the uniform of the 203rd Cadian Regiment.

The man beside her was clearly a Space Marine. His giant bulk and the ancient powered armour he wore ensured he could be nothing else. But the armour was, like the false drop-pod, Ultramarine blue, and the armour bore the sigils and symbols of the Second Company. He wore no helmet, and Ragnar knew his face. He rose again.

"Brother Captain Titus." He said. "It's been a while since Baradeen."

"Lord Ragnar." Titus acknowledged. "I am honoured that you remember me."

"Titus?" Bjorn Stormwolf boomed. "The heretic?"

Ragnar turned, and though he did not raise his voice, there was a deadly edge to it as he said. "Who calls this man heretic must answer to me, Stormwolf."

Bjorn raised a hand. "Gently, Wolf-brother." He replied. "I report only what many say. I answer neither to you, nor the Inquisition, but wait the judgement of the Great Wolf."

Logan Grimnar rose from his seat and came forward, face to face with Titus. The Wolves are accounted large, even among Astartes, but Titus stood easily eye-to-eye with him. Grimnar spoke evenly, as one who makes no judgements.

"I have heard the tale of Graia, worthy of a Saga in itself. How you slew Warboss Grimskull and battled Nemeroth. I heard also that you resisted the Warp in a manner many found suspect, and that you surrendered yourself to the Inquisition, so that the matter might be resolved.

"I know that the _Scourge of Heresy_ was attacked by the Necrons, and of Inquisitor Thraxs' sacrifice. But I have spoken with Commander Dante, and he told me more. The thread of a story, a whisper, a rumour. A mention of the Lord of Time, who came and took you under his protection and, it is said, bound you to his own mission.

"Now soldiers' tales are soldiers' tales, and they grow in the telling. But that," Grimnar pointed to the 'drop-pod', "tells me otherwise. No ordinary pod could penetrate the defences of The Fang, and I have heard such engines before. That is a TARDIS, is it not?"

"It is." Titus acknowledged. "My TARDIS. Have you encountered one before, Lord?"

"I have travelled in one." Grimnar told him. "With the Doctor. If it was indeed he that you met, then the rumours of heresy must be false."

"I am no heretic." Titus averred. "But I am no longer fully an Adeptus Astartes. I have learned that my father, who I thought dead in some forgotten battle with his guard unit, was as the Doctor is, a TimeLord, who returned to fight for his own world."

"So! A tale indeed, and one I am minded to believe, Brother." Grimnar smiled. "We set little store by Inquisitors here, Titus, we trust our own instincts. Mine tell me you are here for a purpose, so speak, Brother, how can we aid you?"

"I came," Titus told him, "to invite you to a fight, Lord Grimnar!"

Grimnars' smile became a grin. "Better news you could not have brought, Brother! Tell us of this fight. But first, a tankard of mead and a haunch of beef! A man must eat, or he cannot think!"

Hogwarts Castle was dark and silent, staff and students long in bed. Even the Gamekeepers' hut was dark, though anyone approaching within fifty yards could clearly hear the snoring from within. By the shores of the lake stands a single building, unlike all the others in the grounds. A simple edifice of white marble, without doors or windows.

The building is the White Tomb, final resting place of Albus Dumbledore. By day, it is quiet, though people come from time to time to pay their respects, or to draw inspiration from the spirit of a well-loved and respected mentor and leader. At certain times of the year, the whole school gathers there, along with dignitaries from the wizard world, to perform solemn ceremonies of remembrance.

On this summer night, the place was deserted, however. Then it was not. Without a sound, a small figure appeared out of nowhere close to the tomb. Pale, bulging eyes scanned the area, large ears strained for any sound above the lapping of the waters and the night breeze.

"Benty has his orders." The figure muttered. "He mustn't make a sound."

The House-elf approached the Tomb and laid a long-fingered hand on the stone side. He pulled his hand back and the stone came soundlessly with it. He left it hanging in the air and stepped into the tomb. The body within was fully skeletonised now, Benty saw as he gently moved aside the gravecloth. But what he sought was still held in the bony fingers.

"Benty is sorry, and his Master is sorry." He told the dead man. "But this must be done, and sir would understand."

Having taken what he needed, Benty respectfully restored the wrappings, then sealed the tomb again. Then he disappeared as silently as he had come.

In Greenwich Village, New York, there is an unusual house. Set back from the street in a rather overgrown garden, it would look more at home in ancient, witch-haunted Arkham or crumbling Kingsport. The most unusual feature is a large, circular skylight in the roof, out of which a bright white light is known to shine at odd hours, as it shone now.

The source of the light was an artefact known as the Orb of Aggamotto, a crystal globe the size of a mans' head that usually rested inside an elaborate stand in the centre of the room below the skylight. Tonight, the stand was open, and the glow of the Orb illuminated two figures. A tall man in a blue tunic, and a short woman in a smart business suit.

The man gestured at the orb, and a face appeared in it. It was hard to tell the age of the man it belonged to, but the face itself was strong-boned and kindly, with penetrating dark eyes. The head was totally hairless.

"I still can't get used to this way of communicating, Stephen." The man said.

"It is only for a moment, Charles." Stephen Strange replied. "One you have attuned your mind to ours, we can synchronise your Cerebro device with the Orb, and begin our task."

Charles Xavier nodded. "A quite remarkable method of search, and one our antagonists have no way of tracing or detecting. Cerebro shields the Orb from magical detection and the Orb blinds technology to Cerebro. We should have done this long ago, Stephen."

"We had other problems." Strange pointed out. "But let us hope that this first attempt augurs well for future work." He turned to the smaller figure at his side. "Are you ready, little sister?" He asked.

Ginny Potter, grim-faced, stepped closer to the Orb. "Let's get started." She said.

Life aboard Agent Coulsons' 'bus', Ron Weasley reflected, had its ups and downs. Agent May and Kratos, on the one hand, had 'clicked' to degree that made Ron heartily grateful for the planes' sophisticated auto-pilot. On the other hand, Hermione and Agent Simmons had loathed each other on sight. Agent Coulson had helpfully pointed out that the two women were so alike in manner and style that they could be sisters, which probably explained it.

Leo Fitz steadfastly refused to acknowledge Ron and Hermiones' existence, other than to constantly scan them for the nano-technology he was convinced was the true source of their abilities. Skye, on the other hand, wandered around open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the notion of 'real, live wizards', and badgered them with questions about their powers and world.

Thankfully, Agent Triplett recognised Ron as a fellow professional. That, and his easy-going manner, made life easier for Ron. Still, it was a relief to see the tall, white-haired figure striding up the ramp.

"Dante." Ron greeted him. "Thanks for coming, mate!"

"No problem." The demon-hunter stated. "If it hits the fan the way you say it might, you're gonna need me! Where we headed?"

"Portland, first, to pick up Nick and Monroe. Apparently, the Council told Rosalee they think SPECTRE are using _wesen_ for some jobs, so a Grimm and a _blutbad_ on the team will be useful. Then we're swinging by Paris to pick up Duncan MacLeod."

"The Highlander's a good man to have around." Dante acknowledged. "I know the Spartan's already aboard. Who else?"

"We've got some people coming in from New York on their own transport." Ron told him. "Not settled yet who or how many. My brother, Bill, along with Luna Lovegood from Torchwood Four and my old mate Neville Longbottom will be coming along with Ginny -she wanted as many of the 'old firm' as she could get. They'll be apparating."

"OK." Dante said. "But what's the endgame in all of this?"

"A bloody great scrap, I imagine." Ron replied. "But as to where, Ginny's working with some people on that, and she'll let us know as soon as we have a location. Then we use the nearest SHIELD, UNIT or Sanctuary facility as a staging post."

Colonel Steve Rogers, Director of SHIELD, eschewed the use of an electric wheelchair, relying instead on the immense power of his broad shoulders and muscular arms to propel himself easily along. The process which had turned him from a skinny, pale young man into the epitome of human perfection might not have allowed his spine to heal from the effects of a Dalek ray, but it prevented his body from deteriorating, and even his now-useless legs retained their sinewy form.

He looked around the corridor he was travelling down, then spoke to the man beside him.

"You haven't made made too many changes to the old place, Erik." He noted.

Erik Lensherr, Assistant Director in charge of Avengers Division, smiled.

"This mansion remains the property of Mr Stark, Colonel." He replied. "Despite his other vagaries, he is a man of cultured tastes. Tastes which, on the whole, agree with mine. That said, the working areas of the mansion have been kept thoroughly updated."

"Good to know." Rogers said. "Bearing in mind I have to sign off the budget for this place!

"Now, why did you ask me here? You know there's a lot going on."

The man once known and feared as Magneto shrugged his shoulders. "The invitation did not originate with me, Colonel, but with Mr Stark. Apparently he has something he wishes to show you."

By this time they had reached the elevator, which whisked them several storeys below ground before opening to allow them into a huge, brightly-lit laboratory area. Antony Stark hailed them cheerfully from a nearby workstation.

"Steve! Good to see you, pal! Erik, you staying for the show?"

Lensherr shook his head. "I have matters to attend to, Antony. Remember that you are on call. Charles may contact me at any moment. Colonel, we will speak later, if you wish."

Rogers watched Lensherr leave, then turned to his old friend.

"OK, Tony, what do you have for me?" He asked. "It must be something special, or you'd have just emailed me."

"It is." Stark perched on his workstation. "Look, Steve, all our intel about this job tells us that HYDRA are active again, right? We're even getting chatter that says the Red Skull is back, aren't we?"

"Him, or someone claiming to be him." Rogers allowed.

"Whatever." Tony said. "But we do know one thing for sure. Who is the only person HYDRA are really scared of? The one person even the Skull respects?"

Rogers shrugged. "Captain America." He said, "But those days are over, Tony. I'm not up to it any more, and we lost Reinsteins' formula. Last time anyone tried to recreate it, we ended up with the Abomination, and it took Bruce everything he had to bring that guy down!"

"You're right." Tony said. "But I don't do chemicals, Steve, and there's more ways to skin a cat than letting Logan stroke it!"

He got down from the workstation and switched on its holo-field. "You know the principles my armor works on, right? The servos that boost my strength and so on? Now before I gave myself this fancy new nervous system, I was paralysed for a while. But in the suit, I was as mobile as ever."

"I know." Rogers said. "And I've used a War Machine suit a couple times myself since I was injured. But its' not my style of operating, Tony."

"Sure, it's not." Tony allowed. Specs, diagrams and images began to flow through the holo-field. "You ever see a Brit animated film called _The Wrong Trousers_?" He asked. "Guy in it has these cyber-pants, and the villain uses them to walk him around when he's asleep.

"Well, I got to thinking. There's a lot of people in wheelchairs who could use those cyber-pants. So I started working on a lightweight exoskeleton that they could wear on the street and move around like everyone else. It's not perfect yet, but partway through the process, I got to this.

"It's basically a lightweight suit with ceramic plates and Kevlar, bullet-proof, knife-proof and flame-retardant. Like the new SHIELD battlesuits I'm working on, only this has miniature servos built in to boost the wearers' physical performance."

Rogers was leaning forward now, his eyes gleaming. Even before he had become Captain America, Steve Rogers had been a man of iron will and unbreakable courage. These had let him accept his paralysis with stoic calm and get on with his life. But inside, he was still a man of action, a soldier anxious to get back into the field.

"Think of the millions of disabled people this technology can help!" He exclaimed. "Not to mention that, with a suit like that, I could be as fast, as strong, as I ever was!" He looked up at Tony. "You've got a prototype, haven't you?"

Tony grinned and pressed a switch, a container unit nearby swung open, and as Rogers saw what was inside, his eyes blazed.

"I kinda took the liberty, as Jarvis might say, of making up something in your size." Tony said. "Like it?"

"You bet I do!" Rogers said. "But there's something missing..."

"It's in the armoury upstairs." Tony told him. "Been there since 2008. Ben found it when he dug you out from under that building. Not even a scratch on it."

There was a pause, then Lensherrs' voice came over the PA system. "Attention please. We have a location on our target. Expeditionary force to hangar in ten minutes. This is not a drill!"

Tony and Steve looked at each other, then both men said simultaneously. "Put on the suit!"

They were playing Scrabble. Amy was just explaining, for the fifth time, that 'Raxacoricofallapatorius' was a proper name and wouldn't fit on the board anyway, when the Doctor clapped his hand to his pocket.

"Hang on a mo!" He said, pulling out a small notecase and perusing what was inside.

"Psychic paper." Amy murmured to Rory.

"Here we go again!" He mouthed back, and began quickly sweeping the tiles back into the bag.

"Note from River?" Amy asked.

"Yes!" The Doctor said. "C'mon, Ponds, work to do!"

"Where this time?" Rory asked.

"Most dangerous planet in the universe." The doctor told him. "Earth!"

With that, he bounded over to the controls and began fiddling with them. The engine note rose, then the TARDIS titled crazily to one side, sending the Scrabble board flying. Rory held up the bag of tiles with a wry grin for Amy before the ship swung the other way and almost spilled them to the floor.

"Geronimo!" Yelled the Doctor.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone**

**Chapter Two: Night Rises in the South**

"Do not count a human dead until you have seen the body. And even then, you can make a mistake." (Bene Gesserit Saying)

The Master of the Scholomance was in an ebullient mood, though his fingers still tapped incessantly on the arm of his chair.

"We're nearly there!" He crowed. "Almost done! With Harry Potter dead, his network is broken up and nobody will see us coming. Nobody will be able to stop what we've started. Within forty-eight hours, our allies will wake in the South. They've been sleeping there for a millennium, waiting for us, waiting for now.

"When the Shadows rise, nobody, not SHIELD, not UNIT, not the Avengers or the wizards, will be able to stop them. Before the week is out, human civilisation will be on the brink of annihilation.

"And that's when we come forward! The Scholomance. Promising an end to the carnage, promising to send the Shadows packing. All we will ask is one thing, one little thing, the one thing we need. The Tesseract. And the mighty Thor will go running back to Asgard, to his father. And if Odin won't give him the Tesseract, Thor will take it, because he's so attached to Earth.

"He'll bring the Tesseract to us, and we'll put on a little firework show, and the Shadows will leave, because by then, they'll have whatever it is they want. But, oh dear, the Tesseract will have been destroyed, so sorry. They'll love it, because everyone's scared of the thing and the humans don't really trust the Asgardians. And then..."

"Then we will have the Tesseract!" The Red Skull said. "It will be the core of this place, and with Herr Teslas' technology and Herr Arkhams' magics, it will allow us to control everything. Nothing will withstand us. Together or separately, we can each demand whatever we wish.

"Wizards, Mutants, ordinary humans, all must answer to us. The Scholomance will be the supreme power in this world!"

"Yes, well, all this won't happen by itself!" The Master said testily – the Skulls' bombast irritated him, as did any except his own. "We've all got things to do, haven't we? Let's go and do them!"

But he did not leave the Chamber as the others did. He waited until they had gone, then addressed the flickering image of the Outsider, who had sat, silent and sardonic as always, throughout the meeting.

The Master gave a sharp bark of laughter. "How long do you think it would take them to fall on each other like a pack of mad dogs?" He asked.

"They're probably all planning it now." Rassilon replied. "At any rate, the Red Skull and DuMorne are, Arkham as well. They're the ones who want to rule the world. Tesla is convinced it will happen naturally once he uses the Tesseract to restore the Vampire race, that they'll dominate as predators always have.

"Blofeld will continue to sell his services to the highest bidder – politics is irrelevant to him, and wealth is safer than power. Mordo cares only about killing Stephen Strange and assuming the title of Sorceror Supreme, as long as people bow and scrape to him, he'll be content. The Riddle woman is only concerned with her precious wizarding world, to tear it down and rebuild it in her fathers' image.

"As for Raven Darkholme, she hopes to use the Dark Energy to create a new generation of Mutants, more powerful than all the others and loyal only to her. She doesn't want to rule the world as such, only to have humanity acknowledge Mutant superiority."

"A pity none of this will ever happen." The Master said. "It would be fun to watch."

"It might yet, if your foolish plan actually works!" Rassilon pointed out.

The Master laughed. "Even if Odin would release the Tesseract, Thor will not ask for it. What he will ask for, and get, is Asgardian aid in the battle. The Aesir are fully aware of the Shadows and their agenda, and their forces are more than sufficient to deal with a Shadow Expeditionary Force.

"No, the Tesseract will be brought to us, directly to us, by our old friend the Doctor. While these so-called Lords of the Scholomance are running around in panic as the Aesir forces rout the Shadows, we will quietly activate the device you told me to build."

Rassilon nodded. "With that much Dark Energy, it will be a simple matter to pull Gallifrey back out of the Time-Lock and into Earth's place. The TimeLords will return!"

"So," the Master pointed out, "will the Dalek fleet that is currently on your doorstep!"

"And the power of the Tesseract, fed into our weapon systems, will sweep them away!" Rassilon snarled. "The TimeLords will be the supreme power in this Galaxy! And this time, there will be no Law of Non-interference. From that moment on, Time will flow as we wish it to flow, events will unfold as we see fit!"

"And me?" The Master asked.

Rassilons' smile was one of contempt. "Since you do not wish to be part of our new order, you will be given what you asked. A TARDIS and the freedom to go as you please and do as you please, providing you do not interfere in our plans. Build your own little empire if you must, my Lord Master, if you will not be a part of your peoples' glory."

"A human poet once said that it is better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven." The Master responded. "I will not live anywhere where I must do anothers' bidding. Even yours, my Lord Rassilon!"

The _Claw of Russ_ was the mightiest ship in the Space Wolf fleet. Not only a powerful weapon in her own right, she could accommodate two Great Companies, with all their support and armour, and had a fleet of Thunderhawks and drop-pods sufficient to launch a full planetary assault by both at once.

At the moment, in her vast Engine-Hall, almost every Iron Priest in the Chapter was busy about what appeared to be an Ultramarine drop-pod. Under the direction of Captain Titus, they were linking the machine-spirit of their ship to the even more ancient one of the TARDIS.

Ragnar Blackmane spoke to the Cadian Lieutenant who, like him, stood watching.

"I don't see the need of this, Mira." He said impatiently. "The Great Wolf has told me that your craft is infinitely larger inside than it appears. Surely we could simply all board that one? If it can change its form, it would easily be able to assume the shape of a ship!"

"It's quite possible, my Lord," she replied, "that the TARDIS could accommodate the necessary forces. Certainly, she could assume the shape of one of your fleet. But the TARDIS is a travelling machine, a craft for exploration. She has no weapons, and no means to land a large number of troops efficiently and battle-ready."

"You speak of it as a living thing." Ragnar remarked.

"Which is what she is." Mira told him. "A creature bred to travel among the time-streams. Alive, aware, intelligent in her way, and bonded to Titus. More strongly perhaps than I am." She finished softly.

Ragnar placed a giant hand gently on her shoulder. "It is obvious to anyone how he feels about you." He said softly. "The Ultramarines have always held themselves above such feelings, unlike the Wolves, or the Blood Angels. To bring Titus out of that isolation, you must be a rare person, Mira. Do not lessen yourself."

She smiled sadly. "As an Adeptus Astartes, Titus would outlive me anyway." She said. "As a TimeLord, his lifespan is all but infinite. Though I spend my life with him, I must pass at the last. But he will always have the TARDIS. I am not jealous, Lord Ragnar, merely glad that he will never be alone.

"Come, they are almost done, we must begin the boarding!"

There is a mountain range in Antarctica, a vast, circular formation with peaks that top Everest by thousands of feet. By secret international agreement, they are designated by a code, and all exploration of and beyond them is forbidden. Yet there are those who have read certain papers and books, who whisper of them as the Mountains of Madness.

Along the inner circumference there runs, ribbon-like, a ruined city of alien, Cyclopean architecture. Once it was the home of a mighty civilisation that flourished on Earth before Man, before the Silurians, before the Elves. Beyond the city lies a grim plateau that even those who built the city feared. Legend makes it the earthly analogue of the feared Plateau of Leng, which itself was the outlier of the Cold Waste, where stood the onyx city of Kadath, home of the Old Ones.

Ancient legends aside, that plain was now a place of feverish activity. Alien, insect-like forms glided to and fro among strange machines of dark metal and crystal. Machines that were slowly, but inexorably, emerging from the ice they had been locked in for a thousand years. Machines of war.

Night was rising in the South, and the world suspected nothing.

_Talk about your double jeopardy!_ Harry thought wryly. He'd had plans in place, of course he had. He knew the Scholomance saw him as a primary threat – they'd already tried to attack him through his family. Then there had been a clumsy attempt at assassination.

Harry Potter was no longer the simple young man who had defeated Lord Voldemort more by luck than judgement. He was a wily veteran, who'd absorbed everything some of the craftiest minds in both the wizard and muggle words could teach him. He knew the Scholomance would have to remove him from the board, one way or another. Either they would simply kill him, or they would abduct him for interrogation, to find out how much he actually knew. He had laid his plans for both scenarios. He'd never expected both to happen!

The remote surveillance systems he'd asked UNIT to install around the Ministry had warned him about the sniper, of course. They had even identified the man: Kuo, the Mongolian, a known assassin for hire frequently employed as a sub-contractor by SPECTRE. Ron Weasley had Apparated to the rooftop, incapacitated Kuo and taken his place. Ron was the best – indeed the only – sniper in the Auror section. The plan was for him to take the shot with a magical bullet that would give every impression of a real one, except that it wouldn't kill. All Harry had to do was follow his usual routine.

What Harry hadn't expected was to be grabbed by four men in the alley. A black bag was pulled over his head, and he felt the prick of a needle in his wrist. Before he lost consciousness, he just had time to activate the abduction scenario. Under the skin of his left palm was embedded a tiny crystal. He clenched his fist to crush it. This did two things. First, it sent a signal to similar crystals in the possession of certain witches and wizards. Second, it released a potion into his bloodstream. Harmless and undetectable to either science or magic, the potion nevertheless made Harrys' entire body a beacon to those who knew how to look.

After that, it was just a matter of waiting. No rescue would be attempted until he reached his final destination.

Harry had woken in a nondescript, windowless room. His captors were silent, masked men in battlesuits Harry recognised. HYDRA, then. Were SPECTRE and HYDRA working at cross-purposes? Or had the sniper been a clever bluff? He had been allowed to eat and wash, and given a change of clothes. There must have been more drugs, because he blacked out again.

The next time he awoke, he was clearly on a plane. Again, there were no windows. Again, his captors were silent, but solicitous. It seemed important to them that he reached his destination whole and healthy. There was no way to estimate the length of the flight, because he did not know how long he'd been out. Finally, he felt the sensations of landing. As the plane taxied to a halt, one of the guards approached him with an almost apologetic air, and proffered a black hood. Realising that a show of resistance could only lead to more drugs, Harry put the thing over his head.

He heard the ramp open, and was led quickly and carefully down it. He was outdoors, the air cold and keen, perhaps a little thin..mountain country? Then he was inside again, a large space full of machine sounds and shouted conversations. A lift, going down, a long way. Then another open space, but smaller. The chatter of computer keyboards, whirr of printers, telephones, quiet talk. Another lift, smaller, further down. A thickly carpeted corridor. A knock on a wooden door, a voice calling "Come." Smell of wood, leather, books, expensive cigars and cognac. The voice saying "Leave us." Perfect English, but a German accent. Then "Herr Potter, you may remove the hood. Please, take a seat. We have much to discuss."

The room was an office, but an old-fashioned one. No open-plan, glass-lined corner office here. Just wooden panelled walls hung with old paintings and photographs. A cocktail cabinet in one corner, a bookcase in another. Nothing so vulgar as files. A big oak desk, with silver inkstand and leather blotter, two comfortable-looking chairs set in front of it. Behind it, an immense leather chair. Harry sat as directed, his eyes fixed on the man standing in front of the drinks cabinet.

He was tall, thin and wiry, clad in a black uniform. The cut was that of the old Nazi SS, but most of the emblems had been replaced with the snake-head of HYDRA. The head was hairless, covered in a red skin that gleamed faintly, as if oiled. As the man turned his face to Harry, he could see deep-socketed blue eyes that glittered and seldom blinked, no nose, just nostrils set into the face, and a thin, lipless mouth that showed all the bright white teeth whenever it opened.

"You prefer single malt Scotch, I understand." The man said. "This particular one is matured for fourteen years and is made in a tiny distillery in the Isles." He set the drink down on an exquisite ebony table that stood between the two chairs, then turned and indicated a wooden humidor and two silver cigarette boxes on the desk.

"I'm told that you don't smoke, but if my information is incorrect, please help yourself. Turkish in the right hand box, Virginia in the left. The cigars are, of course, Cuban."

He sat down behind the desk and considered Harry for a moment. Harry sipped the whisky – the time for drugs was long past – and found it excellent.

"My apologies for the hood." His captor went on. "It is my hope that the next time you pass that way, it will be as a person of authority here. Do you know who I am, Herr Potter?"

"Herr Obergruppenfuhrer Doktor Johann Schmidt." Harry told him. "Alias the Red Skull. Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Aren't you?" The Red Skull responded. "But I forget, you do not know. Just as my men seized you, they allowed a Life Model Decoy to walk into the cross-hairs of the assassin our colleagues of SPECTRE so obligingly provided. Once dead, it was indistinguishable from the real Harry Potter. The obituaries were most fulsome, you must read them when you have the time.

"For now, Harry Potter, your continued existence is a secret known only to HYDRA!"

_Much you know._ Harry thought. _Ron will be laughing his duck off, Hermione will be spitting feathers and Ginny... Ginny will be blazing, of course!_

But the Skull was speaking again. "As to my demise, if Captain America could survive the freezing waters, then how should I, a product of the same science, not be equally able to do so?

"Admittedly, it took my people rather longer to find me, but they did. I am no longer an Obergruppenfuhrer in the extinct forces of a lost cause, Herr Potter. I am now Reichsfuhrer-HYDRA. Supreme Leader of a new world order.

"An order, Herr Potter, which I very much wish you to be part of. I have followed your career, and see in you the capacity to lead by example. That is something we in HYDRA admire. As part of the movement, you would be able to bring about the order your current society makes impossible.

"Say the word, Herr Potter. Pledge yourself to HYDRA, and you will leave this office with the rank of Hauptsturmfuhrer and the command of your own elite unit."

"You knew the answer before you asked." Harry told him. "So you'd better kill me. Just let me finish my drink, first."

The Skull laughed. "You are still loyal, to your friends and your country, Herr Potter. Loyalty is no reason to kill a man, even when it is misplaced. We must attempt to show you your error, and we have one here better suited to do that than I. Finish your drink by all means. Then we will take you to your quarters, where you may meet your mentor."

"Err, just in case anybody missed it," Rory said, stamping his feet, "we're halfway up a mountain!"

"I know!" The Doctor said. "Wonderful, isn't it? Now, those clothes should keep you warm, and there's some hot soup and coffee in the flasks, so just wait here. Enjoy the view, cuddle or text or something to keep warm. Some people will be coming in an hour or so. They're expecting you. Or I think they are. They should be. If not, just tell 'em I sent you."

"Who are these people?" Amy wanted to know.

"Just people." Replied the doctor airily. "You'll know 'em when you see 'em. Now, have you got the crystals? I'll need those inside, and I can't take them in myself."

"Inside where?" Demanded Rory.

"Where are you going?" Amy asked.

"Inside where you're going." The Doctor said, as if it explained everything. "As to where I'm going, I can't tell you. Probably because I won't actually know until I get there. But I'll be back. I think. See you then!"

With that, he bounded back into the TARDIS and was gone.

"Is it me," Rory asked as the sound of the engines faded away, "or is he being more infuriating than usual?"

"Don't think he can be, so it must be you." Amy told him. "Now, soup, coffee or cuddle?"

Harry had to admit, the accommodation was excellent. A little old-fashioned, like Schmidts' office, but more than comfortable. He'd had a bath, put on clean clothes, and enjoyed a first-class dinner. Now he made his way into the room he hadn't yet explored.

It was some kind of study, with books, a globe and a desk set against one wall. A comfortable chair was set before the desk, but on the wall it faced was a portrait. A wizard portrait because the man in it greeted Harry gravely by name.

There was a tantalus nearby with several decanters. Harry poured himself a whisky, pleased to find it was the same brand as he'd had before. Then he sat at the desk and considered the portrait.

"I didn't," he said, "expect to see you here!"

"Why not?" The man asked. "What do you think I fought and stood for all my life?"

"Not this, surely!" Harry said. "And you're the one they said could persuade me?"

"Who else, Harry?" The wizard pointed to a long, narrow box on the desk. "I even have your wand for you!"

Harry opened the box and looked inside. "This isn't my wand." He said. "This is the Elder Wand."

"It is yours." The portrait replied. "Yours by right, and well you know it! We had hoped you would have grown enough by now to accept it, to take it up and use it as you ought. It is your destiny, Harry!"

"You sound like a villain from _Star Wars_, trying to turn me to the dark side!" Harry remarked.

"Ah, light and dark!" Was the answer. "If only they were as clearly separable as you might wish. If only they were not so dependent each upon the other! Light and dark, good and evil – relative terms only, depending on perspective. There are absolutes, though."

"I know." Said Harry. "Law and Chaos. I have learned a few things lately!"

"But have you learned enough?" Eager now. "Do you understand that Law can be perceived as evil, just as Chaos can be seen as good? What is called fascism springs from Law, but democracy from Chaos."

"That's a bit simplistic." Harry noted. "I've always considered democracy as being a balance between the two."

"And so it would be," replied the other man, "if so many people were not inferior! But the witless should not be forced to choose, to decide. Cattle must be led, they do not lead.

"You must see this Harry, and take your place among those who lead, not the cattle. Your own conscience must tell you this, in your quiet moments. You must be aware of your own superiority.

"But if you are not, not yet, then I can teach you. Teach you what I was unable to do before. Teach you the ideal to which I dedicated my life. The true greater good!" Albus Dumbledore smiled. "Hail HYDRA!"


	3. Chapter 3

**The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone**

**Chapter Three: Mountain Fastness**

"There's a time for fighting, and a time for being sneaky." (Wolverine)

The UNIT facility was an observation one, overshadowed by the huge telescope dish that scanned the skies with every known wavelength. There was room, just, to set the huge plane down. At the top of the ramp, Ron shook hands with Agent Coulson.

"Thanks for the ride, Phil." He said warmly. "At least you'll have your pilot back, now!"

Coulson grinned. "May doesn't get that much fun, these days, so I'll deduct it from your fare!"

"I was paying with air miles anyway." Ron quipped.

Phil laughed, then turned serious. "Sure you don't want us to stick around?"

"Thanks but no." Ron told him. "You need to get back to the main staging area and link up with the other forces. Wait for the signal, then go in hot!"

The little group watched the plane take off, then looked around.

"So where are we again?" Monroe asked.

"The Carpathian Mountains." Hermione informed him. "About seventy-five kilometres north of Castle Dracula."

"An area popularly known," Duncan announced, "as the Arse-end of Nowhere!"

"Quit griping." Dante told him. "You're not fooling anybody. I've been to Scotland, remember? Cold, windy, this must be old home week for you."

"Not for me, though!" Monroe stated. "I'm more a forest type of person." He sniffed the air. "Still, it'll be easier to pick up scents here!"

"You're enjoying yourself!" Nick accused.

"Right now, yeah." Monroe allowed. "Later? I don't think so."

"If you can't take a joke," Kratos told him, "you shouldn't have joined."

"Joined?" Monroe protested. "I got drafted!"

"Speaking of draughts," Hermione said, "these SHIELD suits may be insulated, but I'd really appreciate getting out of this wind!"

They made their way to the main building, where they were met by a UNIT corporal who escorted them to the Briefing Room and asked them to wait.

"The party from London are just getting changed." He told them. "The New York group will be arriving in a few minutes. There's coffee, tea, sandwiches and cakes over there, please help yourselves."

They'd eaten on the plane, but as Hermione wryly pointed out, that didn't stop Ron, Duncan, Kratos, Dante, Nick and Monroe from descending on the refreshments "like so many starved vultures." Fortunately, before they could reduce the buffet to crumbs, the door opened and more people streamed in.

Ginny was in the lead, face set, eyes blazing. Luna Lovegood followed, as serene and apparently unconcerned as ever. Bill Weasley was as purposeful as his sister. Neville Longbottom brought up the rear. Ron and Hermione had both been convinced for years that Neville's apparent nervousness and self-deprecation was all a pose, a cover for the white steel underneath, but anyone watching him look wonderingly around the room, and cautiously inspect the SHIELD battlesuit he was wearing, would wonder what he was doing there.

_Neville Longbottom, you are without doubt the biggest, most brass-necked con-man I have ever met!_ Hermione thought for the umpteenth time.

Ginny hugged her brother and sister-in-law hard, before greeting Kratos, Dante and Duncan -all of whom were close family friends – with almost equal affection. Finally, she made the acquaintance of Nick Burkhardt and Monroe. Ginny had spoken with Nick on the phone, but had never actually met the Grimm and his _blutbad_ friend. Ron could see by the way she monopolised them that his sister was determinedly adding them to the bulging roster of the hyper-extended Potter 'family'.

The others milled around. All of them had heard of each other, but not all had met, so there was some sorting out to do. Neville was clearly embarrassed by the praise he was getting from Dante and Duncan for his feat in decapitating Nagini all those years before. Both professional swordsmen, they were impressed that, on his first use of a sword, he had managed to behead so quick and dangerous a creature with a single cut. When he finally acknowledged that since then he had taken up Kendo seriously, he was treated to a barrage of back-slapping that almost knocked him flat.

Luna had approached Kratos and handed him a case she'd been carrying: "I know you've trained yourself in modern weapons, Mr Kratos." She said. "But I thought you might like these. We had them in storage, but I decided they only needed the right person to use them."

Kratos opened the case. Inside were a matched pair of long daggers, or short swords, about two feet in length, with heavy, curved, single-edged blades and sharp points. He took them out and hefted them, feeling the superb balance. He saw then that as the sunlight touched them, flames began to flicker along the blades.

"These are magical weapons?" He asked. "Who crafted them?"

"That we don't know." Luna told him. "Torchwood Four has a remit to collect, examine and safely store any magical items of non-terrestrial origin. Alien magic, to put it shortly. A couple of years back, we detected a dimensional anomaly on Dartmoor, and went to investigate.

"We found two bodies. One was about ten feet tall, was carrying a club and had two heads. The other was human, Scandinavian-looking, dressed in leather and carrying these knives and a longbow. We had some muggles do autopsies and it seems they killed each other. UNIT has the two-headed one, we cremated the other."

Luna shrugged. "The bow was nothing special, neither was the clothing, apart from a pair of gloves which registered strong innate magic. We've never been able to find anyone who could make the gloves activate, so we still don't know what they do.

"These knives, though, are different. They never seem to need sharpening, for one thing. For another, tests indicate that the breaking tension of the blades is very, very high. But the important thing is the other effects. As you can see, during the day they're empowered with some kind of fire-spell. At night, though, it changes to a cold spell – they freeze things.

"I hope you like them."

With that, Luna wandered off toward the food. Kratos looked after her for a moment. He supposed that people in this age would think her odd, but she reminded him forcibly of the Sybils he had met in his other life. Women so close to the Otherworld that this one seemed a shadow.

Bill Weasley looked Ron up and down. "Loaded for bear, little brother?" He asked.

Ron, who topped his 'big brother' by a clear four inches, tapped the butt of the rifle slung at his back. "I like to keep this girl handy. It's much easier solving problems at a distance if you can."

"I think Ginny agrees." Bill remarked, indicating the neat, modern crossbow Ginny was carrying.

Ron nodded. "She's as good a shot as I am, but she doesn't like guns."

"Can't say as I do." Bill averred. "Though I can see why you and Harry have to use them, all the work you do with muggle agencies. Still, I contract for SHIELD sometimes – when they need a Cursebreaker – and I know that isn't a standard-issue sidearm."

Ron pulled the heavy pistol out of the custom holster and showed it off. "Pressie from Nick and Monroe." He said. "Desert Eagle, .50-calibre. Nice to have a gun with a bit of gravitas about it!"

Bill laughed. "Big gun." He agreed. "But it still looks like a toy in that great mauler of yours! You always did have hands like shovels."

"All the better to stuff his face with!" Hermione noted. "Hi, Bill. How are Fleur and Victoire?"

"A handful. Each." Bill told her with a grin. "We've got a problem with Gabrielle, though. The Bureau des Sorcieres has turned down her application to become an Auror. Seems that they don't have a Hermione there, and the fact that Gabbi is a quarter Veela counts against her. She's dead upset, as you can imagine!"

Fortunately, Hermione had run out of both breath and swear-words by the time the New York contingent arrived.

Ginny went straight over to the tall man in the red, white and blue costume who led them.

"Colonel Rogers!" She all but squealed. "It's...I mean I'm thrilled...it's just such an honour!"

Steve let her run out of steam, then smiled down at her. "Thank you, Mrs Weasley." He said. "But really, I'm the one that's honoured. Honoured to meet you and looking forward to meeting your husband at last! Are you in charge, here?"

Ginny had recovered herself. "It's Mrs Potter." She told him. "The Ginevra Weasley thing is just my professional name – Harry didn't want me being in his shadow, bless him! But call me Ginny, everyone does. And no, I'm not in charge, I'm just excitable! Ron's in charge, but he lets me get on with it 'cos he's used to gobby women!"

Ron had ambled over and now saluted Steve. "Colonel Rogers, glad to have you aboard, sir!"

Steve returned the salute. "Major Weasley, it's a pleasure. You don't seem very surprised to see me."

"Well, I can put two and two together." Ron told him. "The sight of a supposedly paralysed man walking about is simple enough to explain when you see Tony Stark standing behind him grinning from ear to ear!"

"You know Tony well, I take it?" Steve asked.

"Family friend." Ginny supplied as she finished hugging Logan. "But we don't call him Iron Man at home. We call him The Destroyer of Sheds!"

"Hey, no fair!" Tony protested. "I didn't do it by myself, your Dad helped! And I replaced the last one!"

"We know." Ginny told him, coming over to hug him. "It's a nice, neat, top of the range garden shed. Or it was until Dad did a TARDIS on it. Now it's bigger inside than the bloomin' house!"

Steve laughed, then introduced the two final members of the SHIELD team. A slender, frail-looking woman with red hair and eyes that missed nothing and a muscular, craggy man with a thousand-yard stare, carrying a high-tech longbow.

"These are Agents Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton, of SHIELD, permanently seconded to Avengers' Division." He said. "All present and correct, Major!"

Ron nodded. "Thank, you, Colonel. Will you be taking command, sir?"

Steve shook his head. "Not today, Ron, this is your show. And it's not Colonel, either." He indicated the uniform he wore. "Today, I'm just Captain America, again!"

Neville, in that disconcertingly quiet way he had, suddenly appeared at Rons' shoulder.

"Didn't know you were a Major, mate." He said. "Thought you were a Detective Inspector?"

"I am." Ron told him. "A DI in the Met, a Major in UNIT, an Agent of SHIELD and a Special Agent in the FBS. But I'm proudest of being a Prefect at Hogwarts."

"Well, that _was_ the most dangerous job!" Neville pointed out.

The trip through time and space had been little different from an ordinary flight through the Warp, except that the steady hum of the _Claws'_ engines had been replaced by the whirring, groaning sound of Titus' TARDIS. More unnerving for Ragnar Blackmane was the fact that he was standing on the surface of, breathing the very air of, Holy Terra! Adeptus Astartes rarely if ever came here. Their place was among the stars, defending the borders of the sprawling Imperium of Man.

Ragnar sniffed the air, clean and cool. This place was much like Fenris. Not as cold, perhaps, and brighter, but still inhospitable for an ordinary human. He turned to the Great Wolf.

"Is all of Holy Terra like this, Lord?" He asked.

Grimnar shook his head. "No, Brother. Legend has it that Holy Terra has many different climates in different places. The Wolf-Priests say it is because Holy Terra holds some part of all the worlds of the Imperium on her sacred soil.

"But we are in the far past of the world, Ragnar. The people here do not speak of Holy Terra, but simply of 'Earth'. I myself have been here before, in the even further past, in a place called 'England'. A tale which I will share with you, Brother, when time allows."

Ragnar left it at that, turning his mind to business. He had wondered at the Ultramarines' request for not one but two Great Companies. He knew Titus to be neither fool nor coward, so accepted that the threat must be great. The reaction of the Great Wolf and the old Wolf-Priest to the name of their foe – 'Shadows' – had been enough to convince even the hot-headed young Wolf-Lord that more than ordinary forces faced them. The fact that Grimnar had ordered no less than four Venerable Dreadnoughts to be woken for this battle did nothing to lessen that impression.

Their ship had materialised in synchronous orbit above this great, but empty, Southern continent, which Titus told them was at this time called 'Antarctica'. Titus had somehow extended the stealth field of his craft so that it covered the whole ship, but their sensors and Rune Priests had detected the alien presence on the plateau below them.

Drop pods had been used to insert Wolf Scouts at the outer edge of the ruined city. They had worked their way inward, reporting that Shadow forces had not extended beyond the plateau, and that their defensive placements were few. They seemed to be solely intent on excavating, repairing and powering-up their numerous craft. Like the Tau and the Eldar, they seemed to prefer aircraft or hover-vehicles to ground-based ones.

"They think themselves undetected and secure." Titus commented. "To speak truth, there is nothing on Earth at this time that could damage them seriously, apart from perhaps two individuals."

They had decided to infiltrate through the city on foot, launching a concerted attack along the entire circumference of the circle. So the Thunderhawks had come in low, skimming the mountains and dropping directly down into the narrow belt of land between them and the city. Now they advanced steadily, a fringe of Wolf Scouts in front, marking routes suitable for the armour. As always, the Blood Claws led, securing each area before the others advanced.

It was fortunate that the Wolf-Scouts were there. Had the Blood Claws happened upon an active Webway Gate, with Eldar already around it, they would likely have attacked at once. As it was, the scout report brought Grimnar, Ragnar and Titus to the front.

"Whatever these Xenos are here for." Grimnar stated. "We need to find out, fast. One trigger-happy young novice could put us into a firefight that would cost us men and time, and almost certainly warn the Shadows of our presence."

They watched for a while, noting that the Eldar were apparently deploying with a view to attacking the same foes the Space Wolves were.

"Do the Eldar also know of these Shadows?" Ragnar asked.

"Who knows?" Grimnar growled. "They reckon to have been around longer than any other race in the Galaxy. But I never knew an Eldar who'd give a straight answer, even with a chainsword at their throat!"

"Grey and silver." Titus mused. "I know of no Craftworld that uses those colours. The one in white must surely be the Farseer. She at least must know we are here, but has said nothing to her people. We should move in closer, just the three of us, with no concealment. Tell your men to stand ready."

No sooner had the three broken cover than the white-clad Farseer called a command in a clear voice. The Eldar immediately stopped what they were doing and stood waiting, with the long patience of their kind. The Farseer herself moved to within range of the three Astartes leaders, her weapons sheathed, before halting and raising her right hand, palm outward, in token of parley.

"If she wants to talk, we'll talk." Grimnar decided. "We can always kill them later!"

As the three men approached her, the Farseer did something none had ever seen one of her rank do before. She removed her war-mask and doffed the high, conical helm. She had typical Eldar features, humanlike, but with the long jaw, pointed chin and ears and long, slanted eyes of her kind. The hair she shook out from the helm, however, was not Eldar-dark, but a rich golden colour.

"Greetings." She said in a melodious contralto. " Lord Grimnar, Lord Ragnar, TimeLord Titus. _Mae govannen_, well met! I am Farseer Galadriel of Craftworld _Lothlorien_. I have come with my folk to stand beside you in the coming fight."

"Why," Ragnar asked bluntly, "would a Xeno care for the defence of Holy Terra?"

Galadriel smiled, but her voice was stern. "Have a care who you call 'Xeno', young Wolf." She told him. "Your Chapter-Master, at least, must know that this world was not always the seat of your Imperium. This TimeLord will know more, but his kind never speak of anything unless they deem it useful to do so.

"But you should know, Lord Ragnar, that this world has been home to many peoples in its' short life. When my people dwelt here for a time, we did not call it Holy Terra, or even Earth. We called it Arda, and it is as sacred to me as it is to you. Perhaps more so, for I was born here!"

"So," Titus acknowledged, "you are _the_ Lady Galadriel."

"I am she." Galadriel bowed her head. "I was born in Valinor, in the one thousand, three hundred and sixty-second year of the Two Trees, daughter of Lord Finarfin of the Noldor, and Earwen of the Teleri. What time Feanor led the host of the Noldor to Endor in pursuit of Morgoth, I followed, though I was not of his party. I and my husband Celeborn fought the Darkness in Middle-Earth over three long Ages before we returned to Valinor. When the Quendi, the Eldar, finally left Arda and took to the Webway, I was made Farseer among those who shared my memories of the fair lands I once ruled as Queen, and so Craftworld _Lothlorien_ was made.

"Should you desire proof, TimeLord, do you recognise this?"

She drew off her gauntlet and showed him her hand. On one finger was a ring, set with a single stone, a diamond of incredible clarity and perfection.

Titus inclined his head. "That is Nenya, the Ring of Adamant," he acknowledged, "one of the Three. But it has no power since the destruction of the One Ring."

"Nevertheless, I wear it," Galadriel replied, "lest with the passing Ages I forget who I once was, and would wish ever to be, and as a reminder that all things fail at the last."

"So," Grimnar faced her squarely, "you will not trust the defence of your birthworld to the Mon-Keigh?"

Her eyes flashed, but the anger in them was not directed at the Great Wolf. "My kindred are sundered, Old Wolf, and there are those among them who use that epithet to speak of the Children of Men. We of _Lothlorien_ do not. We name your people as we named them when first we met them among the woods and hills of Endor. Atani, we call you, the Second People. And there were those among you who were our allies in the wars of those times, and those even now who share our blood. These we call Atanatari – Fathers or Kings of Men. I see that blood in you, Logan Grimnar, and in your protege, here.

"In the name, therefore, of our common blood, I offer you the aid of my Craftworld against these Shadows."

Harry had eaten and slept and eaten again. He knew the hospitality had a purpose, but he was a practical man and saw no reason to forgo a decent meal when one was on offer. Things could get frantic any time, and then who knew when he'd next eat or sleep?

That done, he went back into the study. Harry had not been completely phased by the previous evenings' revelation. He had had many years to think back on his early life and to study the man he had considered his mentor for so long. No longer blinded by the idealism of his teens, he had spotted a darker thread among the glowing tapestry of Dumbledores' life. Not just family tragedy, but a certain coldness, a distance. Dumbledore had often been more of a chess-player than he seemed; placing his pieces with care, and willing to sacrifice any of them to win his game.

"So, Albus, my old mucker!" Harry said by way of greeting. "Where did it all go wrong?"

"If by that you mean, how did I come to my conviction, Harry, then I will gladly tell you." Dumbledore answered. "But I would have thought my revelation would have upset you more."

"When I was a kid, it would've done." Harry allowed. "But I'm an adult now, and I'm a policeman. I've acquired a suspicious mind and a way of trusting my gut, so when I looked back, things jumped out at me. It all started with your boyfriend, Grindelwald, didn't it?"

"Thus the liberalism of our times, Harry." Dumbledore shrugged. "You say that as if it were no different from any other relationship! But in 1899, when Gelert and I met, what we shared was considered unnatural and evil. It was that more than anything that forced the confrontation between Aberforth, Gelert and myself – Aberforth was taking far better care of poor Ariana than I could have done. He knew our grand plans were the folly of youth, never to come to fruition. But he feared for my future should the nature of my relationship with Gelert become known. So he forced the issue, and..."

"I know." Harry said. "Ariana died – nobody is sure how – and Grindelwald did a runner. Aberforth could have ruined you, you know, or blackmailed you for life, but he didn't. Why?"

"He did, in a way." Dumbledore told him. "After the tragedies and upset of our childhoods, all Aberforth ever wanted was a quiet, obscure, life. I was able to ensure he had that.

"I never expected to hear from Gelert again. Indeed, I did not, until I received a letter from him in 1934. A long, excited letter in which he spoke of the new muggle leader of Germany, Chancellor Hitler, in the most glowing terms. He talked about the creed of National Socialism and the place of wizards in it. Of how Herr Hitler had approached the leaders of the German wizard community and promised them a full part in his plans. Of the glorious new future that awaited muggles and wizards alike."

"So Grindelwald was a Nazi." Harry noted. "A lot of wizards didn't want to believe that, but the Bundes Zaubererschaftministerium had a lot of trouble weeding out Nazi wizards after the war. Grindelwald wasn't locked up for nothing, nor was he the only one. But if he was a Nazi, why did you fight him?"

"All in good time, Harry, your impatience was always your biggest weakness." Dumbledore said reprovingly. "Gelert continued to write to me, always urging me to come to Germany and join the Thule Organisation, of which he was one of the leaders. Wizards committed to the Nazi theories of racial superiority and world hegemony. Herr Hitler was one of those muggles fascinated with what they call the occult, and he was enthralled by the potential of magic.

"When the muggle war broke out in 1939, the White Council decreed that wizards should take no part unless the situation became truly dire. Thule had kept their operations secret, so that outside their ranks, only I knew of the organisation. I should have told someone, I suppose, but I held back. I had no love for the Nazis and their creed, but I saw in it, and in the war, the seeds of the world I wished to create.

"Then in 1940, I received a letter from someone else..."

"Schmidt." Harry guessed. "The Red Skull. He was working for the Nazis, then."

"Using them and their resources, certainly." Dumbledore allowed. "But Johann always had his own vision for HYDRA. He felt the exclusivity of Nazi theory to be unworkable. HYDRA welcomes superior men and women, whatever their race, colour or even sexuality. All HYDRA requires is superior ability and the will to exercise those abilities for the greater good of humanity."

Harry's laughter was mirthless. "You're telling me that the Red Skull is a _philanthropist_?" He asked incredulously.

"Not in the conventional sense, I suppose." Dumbledore admitted. "But the mob—rule of democracy, the dominance of the lowest common denominator in politics and culture, proves that he is right. Under HYDRA hegemony, nations will retain their independence, providing their governments adhere to HYDRAs' principles. Leadership belongs to the best, the rest do as they are bid, and live peaceful, ordered, prosperous lives. There will be wars, of course, controlled and policed by HYDRA, because the weak must be culled and the strong drawn out. We seek to improve the whole of mankind, so that in the end, all are stronger, cleverer, better than their ancestors. The degeneracy of peace and uncontrolled breeding must be reversed. HYDRA is the hand of evolution.

"But to return to my own tale, I had found a kindred spirit in Johann Schmidt, and in due course became a member of HYDRA. In my own quiet way, I worked within our world to bring about the changes HYDRA stands for. But in the end, I was called to action.

"In 1942, Johann had come into possession of an artefact known as the Tesseract. A source of unlimited Dark Energy, it would give HYDRA power to accomplish our aims. Indeed, Johann and his scientists devised numerous powerful muggle devices based on Dark Energy.

"But the Tesseract held more than the ability to power technology. It also contained untold magical power. But no wand, no magical device on Earth could tap into and direct that power, save one."

"The Elder Wand." Harry guessed.

"You are as quick as ever." Dumbledore noted with approval. "And, as you now know, Harry, the Wand was then in the possession of SS-Standartenfuhrer Gelert Grindelwald, a man so fanatically loyal to Hitler that he would not countenance joining HYDRA. Wizards from HYDRA were sent to take the wand, but Gelert was too skilled, too powerful to be defeated.

"It was 1944, Harry. The war was drawing to its inevitable ending, and Johann knew that HYDRA must act, quickly and independently, if we were to achieve our aims. More urgently, Captain America and the forces of the SSR were drawing ever closer to us, destroying our bases one by one. So finally, Johann asked me to intervene. I manufactured a movement among the wizards of Britain who blamed Grindelwald for the Nazi activity that was increasing in our world, and allowed myself to be 'persuaded' to confront my old friend.

"People say Gelert did not put up much of a fight, Harry, but that is a lie. He fought long, and hard, but in the end, I was the better man. The superior man. Gelert could not break my will, but I broke his. I did not kill him because it was not necessary.

"But, in one of the ironies of which the world is so fond, at the very moment I was taking the Elder Wand from Gelerts' hand, Captain America and the Red Skull were locked in their final confrontation. Both Johann and the Tesseract were lost to us for a time.

"After that day, the fortunes of HYDRA waxed and waned in the muggle world. But I and others like me in our world, slowly and quietly spread the word. When you reach out and grasp your destiny, Harry, there will be many wizards, both powerful and humble, ready to rise at your command!"


	4. Chapter 4

**The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone**

**Chapter Four: The Siege of the Scholomance**

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!" (William Shakespeare – _Henry V_)

"Climb every mountain," Hermione was singing to herself, "ford every stream..."

"Didn't think you liked Celestina Warbeck that much." Neville remarked from beside her.

"It's actually from a muggle film called _The Sound of Music_." Hermione told him. "Julie Andrews sang it first. Celestina covered it. She covers a lot of muggle songs, you know."

"Muggles have all the good music." Neville remarked. Then he hauled his long body, apparently effortlessly, over the beetling rim of the next ledge before reaching down to help Hermione up and over.

Just below them, Wolverine and Captain America shared an amused glance.

"Gotta love Brits." Logan murmured. "Halfway up a mountain in enemy territory. All Hell liable to break loose any time, and they'll chat about movie songs, the weather, their kids, a soccer match or a soap opera. Then when it starts, they don't say a word till it's done!"

"And then," Cap concluded, "all they'll say is, 'tea, anyone?'"

They were not the first to arrive at this ledge. A young couple, warmly dressed, were sitting snuggled together in the lee of a boulder, sharing a flask of soup. They stood up as Ron approached them.

"Hi!" The woman said. "Are you the people the Doctor told us to wait for?" She had a distinct Scots accent, and her hair was almost as red as Rons'. "I'm Amy, this is Rory."

"I know." Ron told her. "The Girl Who Waited and the Last Centurion. The Doctor told UNIT you'd be here."

"You're from UNIT, then?" Rory asked.

"Some of us are." Ron admitted. "But we're sort of a special group. C'mon, I'll introduce you. Any of that soup left?"

"Quite a bit." Rory said, passing the flask over. "But I wouldn't recommend it. It's called plomik soup or something, and it's not from Earth."

It was one of the highlights of the trip, Hermione would say afterwards, to see Ron Weasley finally discover something edible or drinkable that he'd rather not have!

Introductions over, Ron addressed the group.

"Now, according to Brigadier Bambera, this is where things get dodgy. The HYDRA base is on a plateau on the other side of this mountain, as we know. Originally, it was tunnelled and burrowed into the mountains all around here, but after the war it was abandoned for a while and now the Scholomance are only using the main part.

"But our source in the Scholomance has told us there's an abandoned tunnel further up this mountain that we can use to infiltrate the main base. He reckons it's guarded, but that he can take care of that."

"Can we trust this source?" Logan wanted to know.

Ron shrugged. "The intel came via Sanctuary, and Dr Magnus says this bloke has his own agenda but that 'he's never let us down in the end'. For what that's worth."

"So we watch our asses." Wolverine noted.

"And each others'" Ginny added.

"Hey, Red, I'd pay money to watch _your_ ass!" Dante told her.

"Oh, I don't charge." Ginny replied. "Not for _watching_, anyway!"

"Hate to introduce a sour note," Monroe put in. "but there's something up on that ridge above us. Something big, that I never smelled before." He lifted his face to the wind that came down from the peak and _woged_, causing a few gasps and some raised eyebrows. "Definitely something." He said after a moment. "Still not sure what."

"Scent's familiar." Wolverine added. "I just can't remember what it is or where I smelled it before! Some kind of big lizard, I think."

Ron thought fast. He arranged himself, Ginny, Barton and Monroe as close to the edge as was safe. He had his rifle, Ginny her crossbow, Barton his longbow and Monroe had brought along a heavy, three-barrelled elephant gun. Then Iron Man activated his new Stealth modification, based on the technology used to conceal SHIELD heli-carriers, and flew up toward the ridge.

"What's going on?" Amy asked Hermione.

"Tony – Iron Man – will see what's up there." Hermione explained. "If it's safe, no problem. If it's not, then he'll attack it with the weapons in his suit. The others are positioned so that if the thing can fly, or sticks its head over the edge, they can take a few pot-shots, or defend our position here."

A moment later, Tonys' voice crackled in their communicators. "All safe, I'll send down some ropes."

The climb was relatively easy, and when Hermione got to the top, she saw Ron – who had been first up – along with Tony, examining a large, hulking shape that lay in front of a cave mouth.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Dragon." Ron told her. "Norwegian Ridgeback."

"Oh." She said. "What's the matter with it?"

"I'll tell you what's the matter with it, missus." Ron replied, "It's dead is what's the matter with it!"

"It could be resting." Neville remarked.

"Look, matey," said Tony, "I know a dead dragon when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now."

"Remarkable animals, Norwegian Ridegebacks." Luna noted. "Beautiful scale-patterns."

"The scale-patterns don't enter into it." Hermione told her. "It's stone dead."

"Maybe it's pining for the fjords?" Rory hazarded.

"It's not pining! It's passed on!" Amy told him.

"This dragon is no more!" Duncan stated.

"He has ceased to be!" Barton allowed.

"He's expired and gone to meet his maker!" Nick commented.

"He's a stiff!" Logan noted.

"Bereft of life, he rests in peace!" Cap intoned solemnly.

"His metabolic processes are now history!" Dante announced.

"He's off the twig!" Ginny averred.

"He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible!" Monroe agreed.

"This is an ex-dragon!" Kratos stated with finality.

Then everyone fell about laughing, except for Luna and Bill, who exchanged a puzzled look.

Growing serious, Tony pointed out the mostly-stripped remains of a goat carcass that lay nearby.

"Last meal, looks like." He said.

"Strange we didn't smell that." Monroe said to Logan, who shook his head.

"Not really, pal. Dragon-stink masked it." He explained.

"What is odd," Hermione noted, "is that you don't normally feed watch-dragons that much. Like most reptiles, if they eat a good meal, they get very sleepy. Usually, one would only be fed as it was coming off-shift, as it were."

"But they're always hungry." Luna noted. "Like Ronald. Put food in front of them, and they'll eat it."

"This carcass," said Tony, who'd been scanning it with his suits' sensors, "was laced with what appears to be a fast-acting neurotoxin. Enough to kill several herds of elephants."

"Poor bugger must've thought it was his birthday!" Ron sighed, with a sympathetic look toward the dragon. "But it looks like our contact was as good as his word. This isn't a cave, it's a tunnel!"

"Our entrance?" Cap asked.

Logan and Monroe moved to the entrance, both scenting the air.

"Only two recent scents." Monroe announced. "One is dead goat, the other I don't recognise."

"Smells a lot like a Black Court Vampire." Logan noted. "Only not dead. How does that work?"

"Because it's a Source Vampire, of course!" Luna told him in a tone of mild surprise. "A naturally-occurring evolutionary offshoot of humanity. They're supposed to be extinct."

"So are dinosaurs," Steve said wryly, "but here I am!"

"Give over!" Ginny told him. "You're not a dinosaur! You don't teach at Hogwarts!"

"If our contact inside is a Source Vampire," Ron noted, "it explains why he contacted Sanctuary first. All kinds of waifs and strays end up there, and they all know Dr Magnus can be trusted.

"Right, we'll leave the climbing gear and the heavy coats out here. We won't need it inside, and we shouldn't carry more than we need. Stack it all up so we can grab it if we come out this way."

This was soon done, and Hermione concealed the pile of gear with a Disillusionment Charm. They all got into the cave out of the wind. The tunnel seemed to have been designed as an emergency exit. Yellow arrows were painted on the walls at intervals, pointing to the way out, and there were, thankfully, lights in the smoothed-rock ceiling. Not overly bright, and widely-spaced, but adequate.

"OK," Ron said, "Monroe and Logan take point. Tony and Bill behind them: Tony, scan for alarms and sensors; Bill, look out for Warning spells and magical traps.

"Kratos and Dante, cover the rear. Agents Romanov and Barton and Neville, you stick with Amy and Rory – whatever happens.

"Everyone, stay loose and ready. No unnecessary talk, Ginny."

"Not a superfluous syllable shall pass my lips, o mighty one!" Ginny told him.

"That'll be a bloody miracle in itself!" Ron replied. "Move out!"

"What I don't understand," Harry was saying, "is why you worked against Voldemort so hard. Surely his plans were right up your street?"

"Don't pretend to be dense, Harry!" Dumbledore chided. "You're not as good at it as Mr Weasley, and he never fooled me, either.

"The late Tom Riddle wanted an elite composed entirely of Pureblood wizards, yes? Now, you and I know, Harry, just how mistaken that ideal was, for two reasons.

"In the first place, the stock of many Pureblood families was exhausted. They were producing offspring of severely limited intelligence, like the Crabbes and Goyles, or of markedly psychotic tendencies, such as the Blacks. Families such as the Weasleys and the Longbottoms, by occasionally marrying Halfbloods, had managed to avoid the worst of this. But if Riddle had had his way, such 'diluting' pairings would have been banned. I am no expert in what muggles call 'genetics', but I do know the deleterious effects of inbreeding, as do you.

"In the second place – but even more vital – was the proposed wastage of so many superior individuals. Some of the best and most powerful wizards have been, and are, muggle-born. Your sister-in-law, for instance. Or closer to home, your mother. Both muggle-born, both exceptional. Under Voldemorts' proposed regime, neither would ever have entered our world."

"So why not just kill Voldemort yourself?" Harry asked. "You had the Elder Wand, and you were the only wizard in Britain close to matching him in power. I mean, you used to say you had scruples about using the Dark Arts that would allow him to beat you, but know I know you're HYDRA, obviously that was a load of crap!"

"Again, Harry, you miss a vital point of our philosophy!" Dumbledore replied. "Yes, I could have sought out Voldemort, and proceeded to, as our friend Dante once put it, 'bust a cap in his ass'. The fact that his horcruxes would have preserved him was, at that time, unknown to me. But I did not wish to destroy him, not immediately.

"It is a key point of HYDRA philosophy that war improves the race, Harry. It brings out the bravest, the brightest and the best. It pushes the frontiers of knowledge in a way peace never can. Most importantly, it shows the treacherous, the cowardly, the venial, in their true colours.

"The war – both wars – against Voldemort brought us some marvellous recruits. Sadly, it cost us others. Your parents, and their friend Sirius Black, were high on my list. The time was almost right to recruit them, when Fate and Voldemort stepped in and they were lost; your parents to death and Sirius to Azkaban.

"But they left you, Harry, and your potential was greater than any of them. I knew it when first I saw you at the Sorting Ceremony. Gryffindor was always the prime recruiting ground for HYDRA, for that House draws on the best in humanity. Sadly, Voldemort returned sooner than I had anticipated, and my plans for his final defeat – including my own necessary demise – took precedence."

"That's crap, too." Harry snorted. "You were setting me up to die -the last horcrux. You had no way of knowing I'd survive Voldemort's curse, no way of knowing I'd defeat Draco and master the Wand."

"Indeed not, Harry." Dumbledore allowed. "As I said, I had suborned my larger plans for you to the necessity of defeating Riddle. When I discovered that you had a part of his soul, it was a bitter blow to my long-term plans, but nobody, Harry, is indispensable. Certainly I knew that should you ever confront Draco, there could be only one victor – he was never a match for you. But, as you say, I could not know when, or even if, such a duel would occur.

"What I did know was that the Malfoys were in mental revolt against Voldemort. Especially Narcissa, whose influence on her son was waxing even as Lucius' waned. Eventually -sooner rather than later – I knew that Voldemort would attempt to strike Draco down with the Elder Wand. With his protection gone, the result would have been the same as it was when he struck at you that day."

It was at that point that every alarm in the place went off.

"That's my cue!" Harry announced. "Sorry to break off our little chat, Albus, but my people have arrived and it's time for us to hand the Scholomance their collective arses!"

Dumbledore laughed. "You cannot leave this room without a wand, Harry. Your other one was taken and destroyed. You must take up the Elder Wand, and when you do, you are HYDRAs'.

"My wand?" Harry said. "You mean the ten-inch hawthorn with the unicorn hair core? That was Draco's old wand, I use it for a spare." He reached inside his shirt and drew out the moleskin pouch Hagrid had given him all those years ago. "Useful bit of kit, this!" He said. "You can hide anything in it!" He drew out his own wand, then picked up the box with the Elder Wand in it. "I will take this, though! Bye for now!"

"You were always my best student, Harry!" Dumbledore commented wryly. "Go, defeat Johann, and take his place!"

"I know," Harry muttered as he left the room, "unleash my hatred and gain the power of the Dark Side. Bollocks to that, mate!"

He reached into the pouch again and pulled out a number of small objects, putting them on the table. A gesture of his wand, and they expanded into a SHIELD battlesuit. Harry changed quickly, then considered the door. Sturdy oak panels on this side, probably steel on the other. Almost certainly a guard-room beyond. No time for subtlety.

Harry blew the door off its hinges and into the guard-room. The heavy object slammed into two of the four HYDRA guards there, taking them out at once. The other two went down from Harry's Killing Curses before they could react. He searched the bodies, 'liberating' a handgun and several clips of ammunition. The pistol was a 9mm Heckler & Koch USP, rather than the Glock he was familiar with, but it would do. There was also a long combat knife, balanced for throwing, which Harry appropriated, along with a key-card.

Time to go and find his friends. Harry grinned. It had been far too long since he was in a good scrap!

The corridor grew perceptibly dimmer as the party proceeded down it. They found a couple of the sealed-unit lights lying on the floor, smashed.

"Doesn't look good." Ron remarked.

Iron Man took a careful 'look' around, then spoke quietly. "This whole area is unstable. Must've happened since it was built. Be careful -especially with guns. Too loud or sharp a noise could bring the whole place down!"

They advanced further, then suddenly Wolverine held up a hand to signal halt.

"You getting that, too?" Monroe asked him.

Logan nodded. "_Hundjager_." He growled.

Monroe glanced at him. "You're _Kehrseite-Schlich-Kennen_?" He asked. "Of course, you'd have to be with those senses! Kinda hard to hide it from you."

"Don't _Hundjager _usually work for the Verrat?" Nick asked.

"It's possible," Hermione speculated, "that a faction within the Verrat went over to HYDRA, just as some Nazis did."

"Worse," Monroe added, "HYDRA may have infiltrated the Royal Families." He shook his head, then. "I think these guys are hiding in some side passages up ahead."

"They're not expecting anything." Wolverine clarified. "Just stationed there in case."

"Probably to stop people sneaking out rather than in." Ron guessed. "We'll just have to Disillusion them, people."

Given a sufficiency of wizards, one can hide almost anything. Under Hermiones' direction, Ron, Luna, Neville, Ginny and Bill cast a set of overlapping Disillusionment Charms that covered the whole party. Hermione herself then cast a Cloaking charm to protect against magical detection, while Iron Man activated his suit's ECM package to evade technological alarms.

This got them past the side openings and a fair distance until the corridor debouched into a long, narrow chamber, more brightly lit than the others. They advanced cautiously, but as they reached the middle of the room, there was a sudden crack of thunder, and all the charms were broken! At the same moment, Iron Man yelped as a surge of feedback shot through his suit. Fortunately, automatic cut-outs prevented any damage.

"Damn, damn, oh damn!" Hermione raged. "Passive Reveal! Some wizard here is clever."

"Passive EM projector as well." Iron Man noted. "Undetectable."

Then klaxons and alarms were going off everywhere. Monroe turned to face the way they'd come. "We've got company!" He yelled.

"Well, we rang the bloody doorbell, didn't we!" Ron replied.

Dust drifted down from the ceiling. "Dammit!" Dante swore. "We still can't use guns! Look, Duncan, Kratos and I can hold this bunch off. The rest of you get going! We'll catch up!"

"Go!" Ron barked, and they went, fast, down the corridor and into a room full of surprised HYDRA troopers who never knew what hit them.

"Right!" Ron said. "We all know what to do. Amy and Rory have to find the Defence Control Core – Barton, Natasha and Neville, go with them. The rest of us split up. Two priorities: link up with Harry and take down the Scholomance. Good luck, everyone! 'Mione, you're with me!"

"Always!" She told him. They took off.

Monroe had been casting around, now he turned to Nick. "I'm getting more _wesen_ scents. They seem to be coming from that direction. Coming?"

"Damn straight!" Nick replied.

"I'll come along, too." Luna decided.

Wolverine had simply gone off without a word, and was surprised to find Bill and Ginny following him.

"You two sure you can keep up?" He asked.

By way of answer, both of them apparated to nearby vantage points. "Good enough." Logan allowed. "Let's do this!"

Cap and Tony shared a glance. "Like old times!" Tony remarked.

"Let's see if we've still got it!" Cap replied.

The _hundjager_ came in a surging mob, fully _woged_ and fight ready. If they expected their bestial appearance to frighten their opponents, they were sadly mistaken. Dante held one side with his Hell-forged broadsword, Rebellion, slicing through flesh and bone as easily as air. On the other side, Duncan wielded his _katana_ with grace and precision. In the centre, Kratos used the knives Luna had given him, flickering and flashing through the fray, setting alight whatever they touched.

The first few minutes were fairly energetic, and the three were forced a few yards back by sheer weight of numbers. Then the pressure eased, as their opponents learned caution.

It is a sad fact that _hundjager_ are bullies. Ruthless, dangerous bullies, but bullies nonetheless. Like the dogs they resemble, they can be cowed by a stronger, more dangerous antagonist. Unfortunately, this works two ways, and when pushed forward by something they fear even more, they become very savage.

For a moment, the three defenders thought they had the edge, then suddenly the attacks renewed. But this time, they came in waves, more disciplined, but fiercer. Slowly the three fighters were driven back, until they were against the exit.

But all three were veterans, and had been taking due note of everything.

"The one in the back corner." Kratos said between cuts. "He's different from the others, and he's giving orders!"

"_Lowen_." Dante told the others. "Nick told me about them. Lion-types. Tough, hard, born leaders. While he's in charge, the others daren't back down."

"Then we need to take him out." Duncan decided. "I might be able to get to him."

At that point, another creature entered the room. It was preceded by a choking stench, a bulky, muscular figure with a long, sharp nose, pointed teeth and large ears.

"Oh, crap!" Dante said. "A _siegbarste_! Those guys are tough! All due respect, you two, but you'd better leave him to me! A human wouldn't stand a chance!"

The _hundjager_ drew back as the ogre advanced. Dante moved to meet him. Kratos spoke low and fast to Duncan.

"You've got a space. Go, take the _lowen!"_

"What about the door?" Duncan asked.

Kratos set his brawny frame squarely across the exit. "I'm a Spartan, Highlander. I could hold this door forever against these scum!"

At that moment, Dante and the ogre joined battle. It was a ferocious, brutal fight that drew the attention of everyone in the room. Seeing his opportunity, Duncan slipped along the wall and was almost on top of the _lowen_ before it spotted him. Not close enough, however, as the_ wesen_ jumped back and roared an order. The sounds of battle rose again and Duncan knew, without looking, that the _hundjager_ had resumed their attack on Kratos.

But now he was committed to his own fight. The _lowen_ also had a sword, an old-style German cavalry sabre, long and heavy, which he wielded with more than a little skill. Normally, Duncan would have taken a savage joy in such a fight. His opponent was fearless, skilful and cunning. But the Highlander had other priorities now. He needed to get back to Kratos and help hold the door – the Spartan was only one man, however formidable.

But the _lowen_ was also aware of this, and was making every effort to draw out the fight, parrying, evading, pulling Duncan further away from the door. The Highlander, however, had one tactic to fall back on that his foe could not begin to suspect. Without warning, he charged directly at his opponent. Shocked, the _lowen _raised his blade and Duncan simply ran onto it, impaling himself along the full length of the sword. For a moment, the lion-man was defenceless, and in that moment, Duncan removed his head in a single cut. As his erstwhile opponent fell, Duncan heaved the sabre out of his chest and collapsed to the floor, dead.

A moment later, the Immortal revived and pulled himself to his feet in time to see Dante dispatch the _siegbarste_.

For his part, Dante had been having a merry time of it. The ogre had no way of knowing that his opponent was not human, and was shocked to discover that Dantes' strength and resilience matched his own. A further surprise was the ease with which Rebellion sliced through the _siegbarstes_' tough skin. That said, ogres feel little or no pain, and are irritable at best, so even the wounds Dante inflicted did little more than anger the creature. But Dante had fewer problems with pain than a full human, and was known to be a trifle tetchy himself.

The result was a brawl, long and brutal. No holds were barred, no quarter given. Both combatants were bloodied and battered to an extent that would have killed anyone else. But in the end, having been on the receiving end of quite enough crushing blows, Dante decided to change the game. Brute strength to brute strength, it was a stalemate, but Dante doubted if this beast could match his agility. He suddenly leapt, somersaulting clean over the ogre, and as he did so, he stabbed down with Rebellion.

_Siegbarste_ bones are thick and dense, especially the skull, but Rebellion was no ordinary blade. With Dantes' demonic power behind it, the point crunched though the top of the ogres' head to emerge under its' chin. As Dante continued the arc of his leap, he held onto the sword and it followed him, turning and literally slicing the head in two.

As the ogre sank to the floor, there was a sudden silence. Both Dante and Duncan looked over to the door. Kratos was leaning, as if casually, against the doorframe. In front of and around him were heaped the corpses of _hundjager_. Bloodied, charred, dismembered and in some cases still smouldering, they covered the floor around the Spartan. Not one had escaped him, he had killed them all.

As they made their way over to him, Kratos slid slowly down the frame to a sitting position. The other two dashed over to him.

"You OK, pal?" Dante asked.

"Never better." Kratos told him, and died.

"Ah, shit!" Dante said. "He was one of the good guys, and I hardly got to know him!"

"He died as a Spartan should, in battle." Duncan told him. "He's also been alive longer than I have, but he slept through a lot of it. This wasn't his world any more, he told me on the flight here, and he was tired."

"Whatever." Dante said. "Time to remember him later. Right now, our live friends need us, Highlander!"

_Kratos recognised the warm sun, the grassy plain, the olive grove nearby, the scent of smoke in the air that told of a village. He was wearing his old kilt and buskins, clean and whole, his skin was no longer ash-white, but bronzed by the sun, and he was unarmed._

_He looked about him, spotting a tall figure in black staring into the distance. Old suspicions came back._

"_Lord Hades." Kratos growled. "Is this the prelude to some unusually inventive torment?"_

_The figure turned and grinned at him. Not deliberately, but because the face was a skull and couldn't help grinning._

"Not in the least, Ghost of Sparta. I'm not Hades, for one thing. By the way, thank you for dealing with him. He was getting irritating."

"_So, you're actually Death?" Kratos asked._

"The original and best._" Death replied._

"_So, what happens now?" Kratos wanted to know._

_Death sighed. "_They always ask that. As if I'm supposed to know. It's up to you what happens next, Kratos. Though I suspect they will have something to say about it. They've been waiting long enough._"_

_He pointed to something behind Kratos. The Spartan turned to see two figures emerging from the olive grove. A tall, beautiful woman and a little girl. The woman stopped in her tracks and beamed. The girl gave an excited squeal and began running madly across the grass toward him._


	5. Chapter 5

**The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone**

**Chapter Five: Blood Falls in the South**

"The Space Marine shall master all weapons, and all battlefields. When harried, the Space Marine shall drive his enemies back. The Space Marine will never know defeat." (Primarch Roboute Guilliman – _Codex Astartes_)

Titus was the last to return to the Command Post. He had been taking final reports from Wolf Scouts and Eldar Rangers at the far edge of the enemy encampment. The Command Post was a square in a suburb of the ruined city, and qualified for that title only because it was here that the Great Wolf had set up the Communications Array. Titus could see the ancient Imperial device now, tended by Iron Priests and Servitors and protected by a squad of Grey Hunters commanded by a Wolf Guard. Here also were set up two Aid Stations, one for the Wolves and one for the Eldar, to tend the wounded, and a squad of Eldar Dark Reapers stood near to guard their Healers.

The Wolf Guard, looming in Terminator armour, greeted Titus with a nod. "They await you, Brother Ultramarine."

In the centre of the square, beyond the Array, Titus saw Grimnar and Ragnar with the Farseer, in conference with another. This one dwarfed the rest, an angular, five-metre juggernaut. Titus noted that all of them, even the Farseer, attended deferentially to him, and as he came closer, he knew why. The armour, though battle-scarred and covered with honour-sigils and Purity Seals, was elaborate and highly-decorated in the manner of the best and most ancient Imperial work. This could be only one warrior, the most venerable of Venerable Dreadnoughts, Bjorn the Fell-Handed.

It was a sign of how seriously the Great Wolf took the matter, Titus reflected, that he had dared to awake Bjorn. Built into the great battle-engines at the point of death, kept in a semblance of half-life by their sarcophagi, Dreadnoughts were nonetheless vulnerable to the passage of time. As the millennia passed, they spent more and more time in stasis, and the process of arousing them became longer and more difficult. Each awakening drained the will to live on a little more. Sooner or later, depending on the strength of their will, they would cease to awake at all. When that occurred, the Techmarines would disconnect the sarcophagus and what was within would be honoured according to the customs of their Chapter. The sarcophagus and shell would await a new occupier.

Titus came forward and dropped to one knee before Bjorn, bowing his head. This was the custom of all who met this legendary warrior, even the Grey Knights were said to kneel to him. Bjorn the Fell-Handed had fought in the Great Crusade, in the Horus Heresy and in the reconstruction afterward. After Leman Russ entered the Eye of Terror, Bjorn became the first Great Wolf. Seven thousand years ago, injured beyond healing, he had joined the ranks of the Dreadnoughts. As a Dreadnought, he had duelled with Magnus the Red on the slopes of the Fang itself, inflicting deeper wounds on the Chaos Lord than any other warrior. No Adeptus Astartes could fail of respect to such a hero.

"Rise, Brother." There was a touch of impatience in Bjorns' synthetic voice. "We are all soldiers here, and even were we not, it is improper that a TimeLord should kneel to a mere mortal."

Titus rose, but said. "I was an Astartes before I was a TimeLord, my Lord."

"Worthily said, Brother." Bjorn replied. "But your kinsman the Doctor kneels to no-one, and rightly so. Acknowledge your destiny, my Lord Titus. But first, make your report!"

Titus addressed the group. "It is as we suspected. The Shadow defence relies on eight gun emplacements, four heavy and four light, placed alternately and equidistant around the circumference of their base. At the centre is some kind of Command Centre which seems to be protected by a force field. For the rest, the majority of the invaders seem intent on unearthing and readying their battlecraft."

"These Shadows do not see in light as we do." Bjorn told them. "By day, their senses are limited, which is why they have sent out no scouts. I have battled them before, in the days of the Great Crusade. I was a young Blood Claw then, and my company, Tra, was sent to a small, dark world near the Rim, where ruins had been found. We sought to see whether any remnant of Humanity survived there.

"The world was dead, but as we landed and began our search, strange dark ships came swarming from beyond the Rim and attacked without word or warning. Our ships were locked in battle with theirs, and our ground forces badly outnumbered. We did our best to hold, but it was a bloody night.

"In darkness, they can move invisibly. Their lightning weapons do little damage to an armoured Astartes, but their crystal talons can slice through armour in time. They also use plasma beams, but these are slow, easily evaded by the swift, and the heavily-armoured can resist long enough to destroy the projector. Nonetheless, you must see them to fight them. We must attack in daylight.

"There is one more thing. They are Psykers, of a kind, and will try to fill you with fear and dark imaginings. Let all our warriors be warned to resist, and let the Rune Priests stand ready to counter such attacks."

"It shall be done, Lord Bjorn." Grimnar acknowledged. "How did you defeat them before?"

"We did not." Bjorn admitted. "We held them. It was a deadlock until others intervened. Coming also from beyond the Rim, in ships like living things. Beings of pure energy who took a terrible toll of the Shadows and drove them back before leaving without a word."

"Vorlons." Titus murmured, then spoke more clearly, at a glance from Ragnar. "The Vorlons are the ancent rivals of the Shadows, their equal in advancement and evolution. They, too, passed beyond the Rim. The world, you landed on, Lord Bjorn, was likely Za'ha'doum, homeworld of the Shadows and still sacred to them. That is why you were attacked. The Vorlons would have responded when the Shadows broke an ancient treaty never to cross the Rim."

"You call them Vorlons," Farseer Galadriel added, "but we remember them as Vanyar, our kindred from ancient days. When our guides and chieftains, the Valar, Ascended in the manner of the Ancients, the Vanyar sought to do likewise. But they still lacked something, and though they shed their bodies, they yet remained on this plane. Thus they were sundered from the Noldor and the Teleri, their kin of old.

"But they remained our friends, and gave us much lore of these Shadows. Though I have nought to add to Lord Bjorns' advice, I do have something to offer. If I can come close enough to their Command Tower, I have power to cancel their Darkshield and leave it vulnerable."

"Good!" Grimnar said. "With that done, I can call down a strike from the _Claw_ that will reduce the tower to rubble! If it lies within the power of the Astartes, Lady Farseer, we shall bring you there!"

There were those among the Ultramarines who regarded the Space Wolves as howling barbarians, ignorant of the _Codex Astartes_, who attacked without thought or strategy, relying on pure savagery. Titus had never been one of these, and had indeed fought beside Ragnar on one occasion. Even had he not, the opening of the battle would have been enough to dispel any such illusions.

It began with a thunderous fusillade as Long Fangs and Eldar Dark Reapers opened fire from vantage points they had occupied during the night. Fortified by Eldar Bonesingers and protected by bolter turrets hastily assembled by Servitors, these positions allowed the heavy weapons squads to rain destruction on the inert Shadow craft.

Seconds later, the first wave struck. SkyClaws and Swooping Hawks soared over the perimeter to land among the Shadows, whilst bike-mounted SwiftClaws and Shining Spears shot through the gaps in the defensive ring.

The Shadow reaction was just as the Great Wolf had predicted. The defensive gunners struggled to realign their lighter cannon on the assault troops causing havoc within their camp, whilst their larger cannon wasted power and time attempting to take out the heavy weapons squads. But the Eldar wraithbone fortifications foiled the Shadow targeting sensors just long enough for the next wave to strike.

Opposite each heavy Shadow emplacement waited a Venerable Dreadnought, supported by two younger Dreadnoughts, two Predator tanks and a Land Raider. The light turrets were faced by Eldar Wraithlords, supported by Fire Prism grav-tanks. These now attacked simultaneously.

At the same instant, the second wave of infantry struck. Space Wolf Blood Claws stormed forward with bolt pistol and chainsword, alongside Eldar Howling Banshees and Striking Scorpions. Over the roar of weapons and the shrill screams of the Shadows rose the deep-throated howl of the Wolves, the fearsome wail of the Banshees, while above all soared an ancient war-cry not heard in Arda for long Ages - "_Aiya Earendil elenion ancalima!_"

The outer third of the Shadow base was virtually overrun, except where the heavy gun emplacements stood, and they were being methodically destroyed. But it had not been without cost, and though the majority of bodies that littered the ice belonged to the invaders, there were also Space Wolves and Eldar among them. The cyborg Servitors, ignorant of fear as of anything else but duty, were already moving to retrieve wounded Space Wolves. Eldar Healers teleported onto and off the battlefield with their injured.

Whatever emotions might move beings as alien as the Shadows, clearly fear was not one of them. Pushed back by sudden and unexpected attack, under relentless bombardment, they rallied. Drawing their circle tighter around the Tower, they used the ruins of their craft to build hasty but effective breastworks, on which they mounted plasma weapons cannibalised from the wreckage of light craft.

The fast-moving assault and melee troops of the attrackers were not equipped or trained for such fighting, but did their best to hold what they had taken. Veteran Blood Claw Sergeants bellowed orders to Eldar Exarchs that brought their lighter troops wthin circles of armoured Space Wolves.

The heavy armoured units could, of course, have broken the Shadow defences with ease, but Grimnar had given them another task. Farseer Galadriel had stressed the vital importance of the complete destruction of every Shadow vessel or battle-craft, and the Great Wolf had ordered the armour to complete what the Long Fangs and Dark Reapers had begun.

But all the attackers' forces were not yet committed, and now the third wave came in. Space Wolf Grey Hunters, dour-handed veterans armed with heavy weapons and centuries of experience, and Eldar Fire Dragons, experts in the breaking of fortifications.

"Time for us to go!" Announced Grimnar. Two Land Raiders waited nearby. Titus went with Grimnar and his Wolf Guard, while Farseer Galadriel travelled with Ragnar and his escort. The armoured transports brought them quickly to the scene of battle. They debarked near the heaviest fighting, where the Space Wolf and Eldar commanders had estimated the Shadow defences to be thinnest.

The arrival of their leaders inspired the troops to greater efforts, while the addition of the Wolf Guards, in their nigh-indestructible Terminator armour added a further measure of fury to the attack.

"Not enough." Growled Ragnar. "The day grows short, and with night these Xenos will gain more power. Can you feel them, Brother?"

Titus could. Cold, tenebrous voices, trying to throw a veil of fear over his mind. He knew then, he had been right to choose the Wolves. Ultramarine troops would have suffered more from this attack, as it undermined their reliance on discipline. Under such attack, Blood Angels might have fallen to the Red Thirst or the Black Rage. But the pure savagery of the Children of Russ not only resisted this power, but turned it into yet more fury. As for himself, the dark fingers touched his mind for only an instant, and found the mind of a TimeLord. The fear he felt then was not his, but theirs, as they withdrew swiftly, with unheard shrieks.

At that moment, two figures loomed out of the smoke and dust. The Venerable Dreadnought, Bjorn the Fell-Handed, and a tall, graceful Eldar Wraithlord.

"We left the craft to the others." Bjorn told them. "We are needed here, I think, Legolas and I."

Titus looked at the Wraithlord. He had never before been close to one of these wraithbone constructs. It was said that, like Dreadnoughts, they were empowered by the spirits of fallen Eldar warriors, and wielded terrible weapons.

"Legolas?" Galadriel approached the Wraithlord. "How is it with you, old friend?"

"Lady?" The voice was soft and light, yet clear above the din of battle. "Do I wake or dream? But a little while ago, I walked the woods of Ithilien, yet it seemed a dream. Now it seems I wake, yet once again breathe the sweet air of Arda."

"You do not dream, Legolas son of Thranduil." Galadriel told him. "Battle has once again come to Arda, and we must fight as we once did, alongside the Children of Men."

The Wraithlord seemed to sigh, then turned and strode toward the enemy, his Brightlance weapon flaring. Bjorn was instantly beside him, lascannon spreading havoc. Terminators, Fire Dragons and Grey Hunters gathered round them. Grimnar and Ragnar leaped forward behind Titus, and flanking the Farseer as they drove toward the line.

Then the Eldar committed their last force, as a squad of Warp Spiders teleported in at the rear of the Shadows. They were cut down in moments, but the panic and confusion they sowed was enough. A section of the fortification collapsed, leaving a breach into which the Shadows crowded.

"We need to rush them!" Ragnar yelled. Clearly, his opinion was shared, as Blood Claws, Banshees and Scorpions pushed forward now.

Legolas, the Wraithlord, seemed to hesitate.

"This is not my manner of fighting." He said. Then his form shuddered, and another voice came from him, deeper, more harsh and guttural. "Then rest, old friend. This is my kind of battle!"

Suddenly, a long-handled, broad-bladed axe emerged from one of the Wraithlords' power-fists. Strange energies crackled around it, and the Wraithlord swung it menacingly in the air. The way the construct moved seemed to have changed, as it stood more solidly on the earth, legs planted, rather than with the light poise of the Eldar.

"Hail, Gimli son of Gloin!" Galadriel cried. "Go forth, Lockbearer!"

The Wraithlord bounded forward, and as the strange axe swung down on the cowering Shadows, the air rang once again with a long-forgotten battle cry; "_Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!_"

"They were ever as one soul." Galadriel remarked obscurely to Ragnar. "Come, young Wolf! _Aiya elenion ancalima_!"

They raged forward, these four champtions, laying about them to right and left, following in the path broken by Gimli and Bjorn. Wolf Guards came in their wake, and after them a flood of Eldar and Space Wolf fighters. Genetically-enhanced human and ancient Xeno fought shoulder to shoulder in defence of a world that had not yet birthed the one and long forgotten the other. Arda, or Holy Terra, all alike owed their birth and being to this small blue planet, and for this one fight, all were united.

Forging through the breach, the fighters spread along the inside of the hasty fortification, driving the Shadows before them, crowding them into a smaller and smaller space, slaying them in heaps. No quarter was asked and none given. Time and again, the strange aliens gathered in small groups, selling their lives dearly in their last stand. But the momentum was with the allied forces now, and the end could not be prevented, only delayed.

"The Tower is almost complete!" Galadriel shouted. "If we do not destroy it soon, it will summon reinforcements beyond counting!"

Numbers of Shadows were breaking away from their own lines, dashing madly to come between the advancing Command Squad and the Tower. At a curt word from Grimnar, Bjorn and Gimli turned to defend the rear. The Wolf Guards and the few remaining Warp Spiders took the flanks.

A line of Shadows now stood between the commanders and the Tower.

"I need but come a little closer!" Galadriel told them.

"Then you shall, Lady!" Titus assured her.

The three Space Marines, among the most renowned fighters of their kind, crashed into the Xeno line like so many adamantium thunderbolts, and the Farseer followed. What she lacked in raw strength compared to her allies, she more than made up in speed and agility, and as they crushed the defenders, she slipped through into clear ground before the Tower.

There was no gate, but she did not need to enter. Dropping to one knee, she raised her slender sword to the sky.

"_Varda Tintalle Elentari_!" She cried. "Show forth your power!"

The light that streamed down from the sky was silver as Telperion, golden as Laurelin. It was the icy loveliness of the Northern stars and the warm glory of the Southern sun. It beat against the shadow of the Darkshield, which grew thicker and more ebon in response. The Shadows themselves shied from it with screams of pain and terror, as it exposed their twisted bodies and warped minds without mercy.

The fighting halted as the battle of energies intensified. Darkness and light were evenly balanced now, and the slightest change could decide the battle either way. The Eldar, as one, burst into song:

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,_

_Silivren penna miriel,_

_O menel aglar elenath!_

_Na-chaered palan-diriel_

_O galadhremmin ennorath,_

_Fanuilos, le linnathon,_

_Nef aear, si nef aearon!_

As they sang, the silver in the light grew stronger, but the gold faded. Bjorn knew, without knowing how, that alone, the silver was not enough. Stirred by something within his ancient soul, Bjorn began to sing, to chant the Saga of Leman Russ, and his Chapter joined him. Moved by who knew what elder impulse, the Space Wolves sang the ancient tale of their Primarch. Their deep, sturdy martial voices laid a solid ground over which the Eldar chorus soared, the strains meeting in unexpected harmony. In the light, the gold grew again, and the silver with it, equal, intermingling, each strengthening the other until the Darkshield began to fade and crumble and finally die away.

The songs ended, the light faded. For a moment, there was nothing except the thin screams of a few surviving Shadows in their final pain. Farseer Galadriel rose to her feet.

"It is done!" She said clearly. "But the Tower still grows. We have only minutes, Lord Grimnar!"

But only seconds were needed. Grimnars' message had already been sent to the Orbital Relay, and now the sky darkened as the great shape of the _Claw of Russ_ came into firing position. Troops - Eldar and Imperial alike – made for the transports that had drawn up to the lines during the fight. No one knew whether the vehicle they boarded was a Falcon or a Rhino, or cared whether the hand extended to pull them aboard bore a gauntlet of adamantium or wraithbone. All that mattered now was reaching safety, and they did, skidding to a halt on the edge of the plateau as the battle-barge unleashed her awesome weapons on the Shadow tower. Within seconds it was rubble, within a minute, dust.

_A bitter fight_, Titus reflected, _and a costly one. But the costs were nobly and willingly borne_. He realised now, if he had not before, why the Doctor had revealed his heritage to him, and gifted him a TARDIS. The Doctor could have done this, have led these forces into battle. True, he was not the fighter Titus was, but as a strategist and a leader he had few equals. But to do this would be a betrayal of all he held himself to be. The Doctor had been a warrior once himself, true, but by force of destiny, not birth or choice. It was not the cost to himself the Doctor could not face, but the cost to others.

Titus was a soldier, trained and battle-tested. He knew the minds of soldiers. He could understand and accept their willingness to risk themselves in a way the Doctor could not. Any good officer strove to minimise casualties among his men, but must also accept that casualties there would be. The latter part was what the Doctor could not rest easy with, that drove him to risk himself, time after time, rather than let others do so, however professional they might be. That drove him to try, over and over again, to make peace where no peace was possible. To Titus, this day was a victory, albeit an expensive one, but to the Doctor, it would have been a sign of his failure to prevent the battle.

Titus sat on the roof of a building, watching Eldar troops and vehicles file into the Webway Gates and Support Portals that would take them back to _Lothlorien_, the Craftworld waiting in the Webway. Not far away, the Space Wolves were loading the Thunderhawks that would take them and their gear back up to the _Claw of Russ_.

Below him, Farseer Galadriel was speaking with Bjorn.

"We do not know how it came about, Lord Bjorn." She was saying. "Gimli son of Gloin was no Eldar, but of the Khazad, the Dwarfs of Durins' line. He and Legolas both took part in a mighty Quest long ago in the youth of Arda, and they became fast friends. So much so that when Legolas finally left Middle-Earth for Valinor, he brought Gimli with him. The Dwarf was accounted old, then, but after the manner of his folk, his vigour was undimmed.

"Words of kindness had passed between Gimli and I long before, and he had held himself my champion in all things, so that I sought and gained for him the life of the Eldar. He joined the Craftworld, and though Legolas after chose the Path of the Dark Reaper, yet Gimli was ever at his side in batle, and few could stand before them.

"Yet I could not gift Gimli a Spirit Gem – he was not of our kind, and the destiny of the souls of Dwarfs is unknown to us. So when he fell in battle against the Necrons, their Immortals lying in heaps around him, we thought him lost. Legolas continued his Path, with a cold fury born out of the loss of his friend, and became one of the most dread Exarchs among the Reapers. But in due course, he also fell, at the hands of the Thousand Sons. His Gem was saved, and his soul joined the others in the Craftworlds' Infinity Circuit.

"It was not until later, when we had cause to retrieve Legolas' soul and place it in a Wraithlord, that we discovered the anomaly. When the battle grew close, there came a change in the Wraithlord. Its' voice became deeper, and that terrible Spirit Axe appeared in its hand, and it charged into the foe uttering the ancient battle-cry of the Khazad.

"Now whether Legolas, who was with his friend in that last fight, somehow absorbed Gimlis' soul into hs own Spirit Gem, or whether indeed it is some madness within Legolas himself that causes him to take on the traits of his old friend, we cannot say.

"Farewell for this time, Lord Bjorn. Perchance we shall meet again, but now I must speak with the others."

"For Eldar and Astartes to fight on the same side is not unknown." Grimnar noted. "But it is rare enough for this matter to be worth a Saga in itself. You and your Craftworld will be remembered with honour, Farseer.

"But certain things need not be told. Your connection with Holy Terra, for instance, and your statement that some humans carry Eldar blood. Were the Inquisition to learn of this, they would not rest until all Humanity had been purged of Xeno blood. The imperium has wars enough on her borders, without the misery of internal strife. Your peoples' ancient enmity with the Shadows shall be enough of a cause for your joining."

"You are wise, Great Wolf." Galadriel replied. "Your folk are not yet ready to remember their beginnings in full. But this alliance may only be a beginning, a foreshadowing of things to come. Therefore, I have tokens for you and this young Wolf-Lord."

She gave Grimnar and Ragnar each a small box, inside were badges or brooches of silver, delicately crafted in the shape of leaves, their veins picked out in a green enamel.

"These are Leaves of Lothlorien." Galadriel told them. "They declare you Elf-friends, and will be recognised by all Eldar as a token of respect. Now know that our people are sundered, and in your time some of them are unfriends to _Lothlorien_. But know also that these tokens will always earn you at least a hearing from all Eldar, and may help to avoid unnecessary strife even when they do not bring aid or counsel.

"Now, farewell, Wolf-Lords. _Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo_, a star shines on the hour of our meeting!"

Then she turned to Titus. "For you, TimeLord, no token is needed, or would be enough. You are known among the Eldar, and your word is as law to us, should you choose to use it so.

"But this I must say to you. Go not to the Fields of Trenzalore – that battle is not yours to fight. Silence will fall. But you have your own tasks.

"We shall meet again, Lord Titus. _Namarie_."

She turned and left. The three Marines looked at each other.

"Let's go." Ragnar said. "We're done here."

"Take us home, Titus." Grimnar added. "There is meat to be eaten, ale to be drunk and a tale to be told!"

But as they headed to the Thunderhawk, Titus could not help thinking about one thing. Where the Shadow Tower had fallen, there was a scar in the ice. No longer a crack, but the place where one had been. Something about its shape was naggingly familiar.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone**

**Chapter Six: Family Matters**

"Demons run when a good man goes to war." (Dr River Song)

To say that Harry Potter was having the time of his life would be to overstate the case. That said, there was a certain exhilaration about not being bound by the rules of 'reasonable force' and 'due process'. Not by nature a violent man, destiny had made Harry a warrior, and sometimes it was good to unleash that part of himself. It gave him balance and perspective.

Thus far, he had encountered muggle soldiers, wizards and even a few _wesen_, all in HYDRA gear. More or less what he expected. SPECTRE was a smaller organisation, which hired out specialists as individuals and small teams. Doubtless the only SPECTRE operatives here would be Blofelds' personal minders.

Harry was quick and quiet, making use of service corridors and maintenance catwalks where he could, Apparating to suitable vantage points when opportunity offered and generally causing as much havoc as he could. But not at random, he had a plan. He was making his way to where the noise and chaos were at their worst. That, he figured, was where his friends would be.

He was a little surprised, then, to run into what seemed to be a fully-equipped wizard laboratory. Not nearly as surprised as its occupants, however! Harry ducked under a Killing Curse and responded with one of his own that did not miss. Without a pause, he rolled clear of a stream of black cords loosed at him by another wizard who had taken cover behind an alchemical workbench. Harry cast a Reductor that blew the bench and its contents to smithereens, leaving his assailant cut to ribbons by flying glass and splinters of wood.

As he came up on his feet another wizard launched a fireball. Harry threw up a Shield which absorbed the flames, and at the same time drew his pistol, firing through the shield to hit the man squarely between the eyes.

There was a moments' silence, then the sound of applause. Harry turned to see a tall, slender, dark-haired woman standing in the doorway, clapping her hands.

"Oh, bravo!" She said. "Remarkable! Everything your reputation promises!"

Harry looked into the cold grey eyes and knew her.

"Arabella Riddle, I presume?" He said.

She inclined her head. "Harry Potter." She replied. "They told me you were dead."

"I know." He told her. "Happens to me a lot. Somebody told your parents the same thing, as I recall. You shouldn't take it to heart, though. After all, you got double-crossed by no less a person than the Red Skull. But it was just Auntie Narcissa who put one over on your folks!"

Her eyes flashed, but she mastered herself. "I'm so glad you came this way." She remarked. "You'd never have got through that other door. I imagine your brother- and sister-in-law are finding that out right now."

If she was trying to worry him, she didn't succeed. The combination of Ron and Hermione was one that spelt the very worst kind of trouble for anyone who crossed them, Harry knew. He shrugged.

"No doubt they'll tell me all about it, after you and I have finished here." He said.

"Ah, yes." Arabella said. "Talking of taking things to heart, I was rather upset at the decision to take you out before. I did so want to do it myself. Family honour, you know? So it's all worked out rather well."

Harry snorted. "Honour? Your family? The only honourable Black I ever knew was murdered by your mother, and your father hadn't a scrap of decency to his name. Why do this at all? It's not as if they gave a damn – they abandoned you!"

"They made me safe!" Arabella snarled. "Placed me in the care of people who could teach me what I needed to know. Made Uncle Viktor my mentor, so that I could learn even more. They knew about the Prophecy. Knew that if it came true and you won, my life wouldn't be worth a moments' purchase. Tell me you wouldn't have killed me without a second thought!"

Harry sighed. "If you'd left me alone, I'd have left you alone. I've met Dr Doom. I'll bet he told you to leave it alone, as well. He's a power-crazed megalomaniac like your father, but twice the man Voldemort could ever hope to be!"

"Liar!" She hissed. "Oh, I knew I was right about you, Potter! My father was a great man, and you cut him down in his prime! But we're here now, and I intend to put history right!"

She raised her wand in salute, then moved into a duelling poise. Harry shook his head as he saluted her back.

"Arabella," he made one last attempt, "if dear old Dad couldn't beat me, what chance d'you think you've got, luv?"

Her response was a Levitation Spell that sent him shooting upwards, clearly designed to crush him against the ceiling. He countered with a Weightless Charm, flipped himself over, kicked off from the ceiling, then flipped again, casting Sectumsempra as he did so. Arabella manged to Shield, but not quite quick enough to prevent a long, shallow gash along her wand arm.

"First blood to me, I think!" Harry pointed out as he landed softly. "It's been seventeen years since I defeated Voldemort, and I've learned a lot since then!"

With a shout of rage, she hurled fire at him, which he quenched with a blast of icy cold. She tried to snare him, and he reduced the cords to ash with a fire-spell of his own. He shot coloured smoke to blind her, she summoned a wind to blow it away, then blocked his Stun hex.

Then, like her father before her, she hurled a Killing Curse at him. Harry moved aside, just enough to let it slip past him, and cast another Stun. Arabella dodged, but she jumped to one side, taking her eyes off Harry and her concentration off the duel for the one second he needed.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Remus had called it his 'signature move', and it had served him well over the years, as it did now. Arabellas' wand was wrenched from her hand and Hary caught it deftly.

"Done!" He said. "I promised your aunt I wouldn't hurt or kill you unless I had to, and now I don't have to. Run, Arabella, get out of here. Go somewhere far away and think about your life, before you do something irrevocable."

She glared at him, and opened her mouth to speak. But he never found out what she was going to say, because that was when the ceiling fell in.

Ron and Hermione had been causing as much chaos, in their own inimitable way, as Harry. Laughing, joking, bickering and flirting as they went, they had demolished labs, wrecked armouries and driven HYDRA troops like flies.

"I'd sort of hoped for a bit of a challenge." Hermione complained. "Something to show my talents!"

"If I'd known that," Ron told her, "we'd have come on Quiz Night!"

"Hmph!" She replied. "I said a _challenge_, darling! Me at a Quiz Night is like you at an eating contest – a foregone conclusion!"

"Oh, well in that case," Ron remarked, "when we get home I'll leave two pencils on your desk, not exactly parallel, and we'll see how long you can last without straightening them!"

"I'm married to a sadist." Hermione mourned. "Am I really that OCD?"

"You have your moments." Ron allowed. "But if you want me to be a sadist I can always cut your chocolate ration."

"Worse than Voldemort!" Hermone declared. "Worse than _Snape_!"

"Admit it," Ron urged, "that's what turns you on about me!"

"Too true!" She admitted. "It certainly can't be your charm!"

It must be understood that this conversation was taking place during the process of clearing out a carefully-laid HYDRA ambush with a barrage of fiendishly well-executed hexes. That done, they stood and listened for a moment. The air carried a cacophony of alarm klaxons in various tones, shots, explosions, yells, screams and ocasional bursts of very ripe language!

"Sounds like everybody's having fun." Ron commented.

Hermione shook her head wonderingly. "There's only a few of us." She noted. "How can we be raising so much havoc?"

"Rather a select group, you know." Ron told her. "But right now, I see a door in front of us."

"A very big door." Hermione agreed.

"A very big, sinister door." Ron amplified.

"And what do we do when we see big sinister doors?" She asked.

"Same as we've always done." He replied. "We go through them!"

The room beyond was dimly-lit, by fire rather than power, but also by the glow of runes and sigils etched onto the walls. Hermione glanced at them, then her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to speak.

Before she could say anything, the lights flared brighter and a massive hex crashed down at them. They both managed to shield, but their charms were shattered and they were both thrown backwards and to the floor.

When Rons' vision cleared, he saw a man standing in the middle of the room. A little above the medium height, heavily-built and wearing elaborate wizard robes in green and black, he had a pale, squarish face accentuated by the spade-shaped beard he wore and cold eyes.

"Pathetic!" He spoke in a deep, hollow voice. "Foolish, wand-dependent children! Did you think the Scholomance would fall before the likes of you?

"Even now, your precious Chosen One rushes to his demise at the hands of Countess von Doom. But you two, you will find your true destiny. You shall live long, miserable lives as the slaves of Baron Mordo!"

As Hermione and Ron scrambled to their feet, they clasped hands, and a peculiar thing happened. They had always been the kind of couple who finished each others' sentences occasionally, and were known, to the annoyance of friends and family, to begin conversations 'in the middle'. Despite the gap between Hermiones' careful, logical cleverness and Rons' intuitive but erratic brilliance, each had always been able to know what the other was thinking. But now, faced with ultimate danger, surrounded by magic, that intimacy achieved a new level.

Not quite empathy, not quite telepathy, but something a little more than both. For a moment, they were one person. It was intense and a little scary, and it allowed wordless communication of a kind neither had ever experienced.

_He's more powerful than the two of us put together_. Ron felt/thought.

_This is the centre fo the bases' magical defenses. _Hermione responded.

_Can you take them down?_

_Yes, given time, but not with him there. You can't handle him, Ron!_

_Not by myself, but I'm wearing Dad and Tonys' latest bit of kit._

_That's risky. It's only a prototype!_

_Hobsons' choice, luv. You deal with the clever stuff, I'll deal with him!_

_Are you sure? I can't lose you!_

_I'll be OK. All I need is to get close enough to land him a swift kick in the goolies. He won't be doing much magic after that!_

_OK. OK. But I promise you, Ron Weasley, I'll not be your widow! Not for long, anyway!_

The exchange had taken less than a second. Then they let go of each other and Ron stepped forward. The belt he was wearing was not SHIELD issue, and had a large, silvery buckle. Now he placed his hand on that buckle and murmured a charm. A silver shimmer surrounded him, then solidified into armour.

This was Arthur Weasleys' wizard answer to Tony Starks' Iron Man suit. The two men had worked for over a year to produce this protoype, and Arthur had given it to his son before Ron left on this mission 'just in case'. It was not sleek and futuristic like Iron Mans' but looked like medieval plate armour. It was silvery in colour, because it was made from mithril, but the ring in the centre of the breastplate was white gold.

As the visor closed over his face, Ron heard a voice in his ear. Ever the traditionalist, Arthur had charmed the suit with the voice and personality of a House-elf.

"Suit is fully-charged and ready for action." Said the voice. "Masters' wand has been incorporated. All systems optimal."

Ron strode forward, and his amplified voice boomed from within the helm. "Now what was that about pathetic, your Baronship?"

"A change of attire changes nothing, Sir Fool!" Mordo sneered, then released another powerful spell, so fast that Ron, unused to the suit, couldn't shield. Hermione gasped as he staggered and went down on one knee, then sighed with relief as he stood again.

"Suit is now at 120% of full power." Ron heard. He grinned, Dad didn't miss a trick. This suit didn't just protect against magic, it absorbed it!

"Just call me the Silver Sorceror!" He told Mordo, then unleashed a Stun hex that, for sheer brute power, surpassed anything even he had cast before. Mordo did shield, but was still knocked back several paces. With a roar of fury, he summoned the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. Ron guessed that even in the suit, he couldn't break those, so when the Bands appeared, he wasn't there. Like the muggle suit on which it was based, this magical armour was perfectly capable of flight.

From his new position near the ceiling, Ron hurled a Reductor that blew a massive crater in the floor at the spot where Mordo was standing. The dark wizard Apparated clear, but not quite quickly enough, reappearing bruised, battered and with his elaborate attire badly torn.

The spells within the helm gave Ron his full range of vision, despite the narrow eyeslits. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione working quickly and efficiently to shut down the magical defences. Sooner or later, he knew, Mordo would also notice her. This armour might give him the edge in magical combat, or it might not, but Ron knew for certain that if he could once get within punching range, Mordo would be no match for him in a physical fight.

He swooped down toward the still-disoriented wizard, bellowing. "All right, Mordo! It's arse-kicking time!"

But Mordo was a veteran and he responded by instinct, hurling a huge blast of raw magic at his assailant. Caught in mid-swoop, Ron could do nothing but ride it out, hoping that his suit could absorb the energy. Weird sensations crawled across his body, the suit juddered and whined, growing hot and cold by turns, but it held. When Mordos' blast ceased, the Silver Sorceror still hung above him, glowing now with argent energies that crackled along the surface of the armour.

"Suit is overloading!" Ron heard. "Wild magic discharge imminent!"

That was the inherent risk of the armour. Arthur had built it of mithril because that metal is wellnigh indestructible, second only to adamantium in hardness. But throughout the suit, centring on the ring at the centre of the breastplate, was a network of fine, white gold wires. Of all metals, white gold has the highest capacity for storing magical energy, but if that capacity is overloaded, then somehow the metal taps into an extradimensional 'wild magic'. This magic is incredibly powerful, but equally dangerous.

Ron did the only thing he could, stretching out his hands toward Mordo and concentrating hard. The wild magic burst out of the suit in pure white fire, raging almost beyond control. Except that it was not, Ron realised. Somehow, it was his magic. Not spells as such, but an extension of his will, and Ron was a man with an iron will. He directed the wild magic at Mordo, shattering his shield, breaking his will, pushing him back until he collapsed to the floor.

Energy expended, the wild magic faded and Ron touched down in front of his fallen opponent. Mordo was gasping, wild-eyed in disbelief, as he stared in stark fear at the armoured figure towering over him. Ron didn't feel triumphant, just a little knackered. The suit was hot and uncomfortable and he wanted to get out of it.

Then the rumbling came. Mordo looked up, then Disapparated. Ron simply dropped to one knee and covered his head as the ceiling fell in on him.

Hermione had been well clear of the part of the room that had collapsed, but for a while she was blinded and choked by billowing dust. Flicking it aside with her wand, she dashed toward the pile of rubble.

"Ron? RON!" He couldn't be dead, she'd _know_ if he was dead!

Then a large pile of rubble heaved upwards and Rons' armoured figure emerged. Of course, the suit boosted his strength as well. The suit itself was undented, not a scratch showed on the mithril. But at odd locations, there were sparks of coloured magic flaring and crackling. Clearly the white gold circuitry hadn't fared so well.

"Suit has suffered damage." Ron was told. "Suit can only operate at 55% efficiency. Unless Master overrides, Suit will now close down for self-repair. Full function will be restored in five hours."

"Acknowledged and thank you." Ron said without thinking. The suit faded and vanished. Then Hermione was all over him!

"You did it!" She shrieked. "You were incredible! I never thought I'd see anybody control wild magic, but you went and did it, Mr Weasley!"

They kissed then, deeply and passionately, and for a moment, that incredible oneness came on them again.

"Whoah!" Ron said. "If that happens when we have sex..."

"My brain will melt and run out of my ears!" Hermione told him. "And it will be worth it, my Silver Sorceror!"

"Yeah, that was a bit corny." Ron admitted. "But you put a silly suit on and start throwing super-powers about and things just naturally turn tacky!"

"It was in better taste than some." Hermone allowed. "But the battle-cry needs more work. 'It's arse-kicking time'? Really?"

"Don't tell Ben, OK?" Ron begged.

"My lips are sealed." She promised.

"What about the defenses?" He asked.

"Got 'em down before you wrecked the place, darling." She assured him. "But I see a gap into the next room over there, and it behoves us to be moving on, I think!"

Harry had managed to dive under a workbench. When he was sure it was safe, he wriggled out. About half of the room was buried in a large heap of rubble, out of the bottom of which the head and shoulders of Arabella Riddle protruded. Harry dashed over.

She was alive, and conscious, her eyes focused on him as soon as he knelt beside her. But she was having difficulty breathing. Harry levitated some of the rubble away from her chest until a groaning in the heap warned him that it was still unstable. Even among wizards, heavy rescue is a specialised skill, so he had to stop before he made things worse.

"How are you?" He asked.

Her attempt to answer caused a violent fit of coughing which brought blood dribbling from her mouth.

_Crap!_ He thought. _Internal injuries. Not good._

"Do you have any Healing Potions here?" He asked her.

"Not..a Healer..lab." She croaked.

"Are there any Healers or HYDRA medics nearby?" Harry wanted to know. "My people wouldn't attack them, and you need help!"

"Why?" Arabella asked.

"I promised your aunt." Harry told her. "I promised I wouldn't hurt or kill you unless I had to. That includes leaving you to bleed out!"

"Harry? HARRY!" That was Hermiones' voice. Harry glanced up to see her and Ron picking their way across the rubble toward him.

"What kept you?" He asked.

"Ran into some old friends." Ron explained. "So did you, I see."

"This is Arabella Riddle." Harry told them. "She's hurt, badly. We need to get help for her."

"Right!" Ron said. "Well, you've got the Invisibility Cloak, mate, so you'd better toddle off and see if you can find someone. 'Mione, do you want to take a gander round here and see if there's any books or kit that we need to confiscate? I'll keep an eye on Ms Riddle here."

"I thought," Harry said as he pulled his Cloak out of the moleskin pouch, "that I was in charge?"

"You're dead, remember?" Ron said. "Until I say otherwise, anyway!"

"Oh, charming!" Harry commented. "I thought you had to be a medium to talk to dead people? All I can see here is a Small and an Extra-Extra Large!"

He wrapped the Cloak round himself as he headed for the unblocked door. Hermione was already busy about the shelves and chests in the uncollapsed side of the lab. Ron knelt beside Arabella.

"Out of Bellatrix by Voldemort." He mused. "Bit of a disastrous pedigree, eh?"

"Better than yours, blood traitor!" Arabella managed to hiss, though it made her cough up more blood.

"Hush!" Ron told her, with a smile. But the smile didn't reach his eyes, which were cold. His voice had changed as well, losing the soft West-Country burr and becoming clear and precise. "Harry is a hero, Arabella; truth, honour, justice – he buys into the whole thing. Also, he's a good man. He looks at you and sees somebody who took a wrong turn. Somebody who, given the chance, might turn their life around.

"Me, I'm not high-minded or clever. I'm what they call a Bear of Very Little Brain, so I only see what's actually there. I look at you, Arabella, and all I see is bad seed, seed nothing good can grow from. Time to sleep, now."

He leaned down and placed one massive hand over her mouth and nose. In full health, free to move and strong, she would not have been able to resist his powerful grip. As it was, her struggles were short, feeble and somehow half-hearted. After a second or two, she simply relaxed and let go.

When he was sure of her, Ron deftly flicked his wand at the ceiling, then yelped and jumped back as another cascade of rubble came down. This time, when the dust cleared, there was no sign of Arabella. Hermione dashed to his side.

"Are you OK?" She demanded.

"I'm fine." He told her. "Ms Riddle wasn't so lucky, I'm afraid!"

"Oh, dear. What a pity. How sad. Never mind." Hermione replied with heavy irony. "I found a couple of Forbidden Books, by the way. I destroyed them. Apart from that, it's all top-of-the-range equipment, but nothing out of the ordinary."

"Well, we'd best go and find Harry." Ron decided. "Tell him the bad news and bring him back to life, as it were."

He turned to go, but Hermione caught his hand.

"Ron," she asked quietly, "the Riddle woman. Did you...?"

"I cleared up Harrys' mess." He told her. "Just like I've always done, luv."

She nodded. "OK. Let's go and get him."


	7. Chapter 7

**The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone**

**Chapter Seven: Allegro Furioso**

"Cry 'Havoc!'' and let slip the dogs of war!" (William Shakespeare)

Nick had decided that Luna Lovegood definitely suffered from at least a mild case of Aspergers' Syndrome. She was high-functioning enough to communicate, but not quite enough to do so in a normal manner.

She had begun by saying to Monroe, in a matter-of-fact way: "I'm sorry that wizards used to persecute your people. My father always said there was more than one kind of werewolf, but it wasn't until Hermione set up the Registration Programme that we were able to prove it."

Monroe had shrugged. "Don't worry about it. A lot of us weren't exactly guiltless. My ancestors ate more than a few people over the centuries, and there were probably some wizards in the mix!"

"Two wrongs don't make a right." Luna pointed out. "But there are only two kinds of magical _wesen_, of course. The Hags – you call them _Hexenbiesten_ – and Veelas, who are magical creatures you wouldn't know about.

"Have you ever eaten anybody, Mr Monroe?"

Nick choked. Monroe stared at Luna, then realised that there was nothing behind the question but simple curiosity.

"Err, no." He replied. "I'm _wieder blutbad_. I don't even eat meat. Besides, Rosalee, my girlfriend, wouldn't like it."

"Oh." She said. "I don't eat meat myself, you know. Well, fish sometimes. Is your girlfriend _wieder blutbad_, too?"

"Rosalee? No, she's a _fuchsbau_." Monroe told her.

"Isn't that a bit unusual?" Luna asked. "I don't know, you see, because the only other _wesen_ I've met have been aliens."

"There are alien _wesen_?" Nick asked, surprised.

Luna nodded. "Oh, yes. I work for Torchwood Four, you know, and our remit is to deal with alien magic and wizards that arrive on Earth. We once came across a Klingon who was what they call a 'targ-face' – a targ is sort of like a wild boar only spikier – he's living in the Canadian Rockies now. There was also a Vulcan who _woges_ into a bird-creature, a silverbird she calls it, she married a wizard and lives in Hogsmeade where nobody cares about her ears."

"Are there alien Grimms, as well?" Nick wanted to know.

"I don't know, I never asked." Luna remarked, then without missing a beat, unleashed a powerful fireball into the mob of _wesen_ who had just charged round the corner.

After that, things got busy. As far as Nick could judge, they were facing a mixed bag of _hundjager_, _skalengeck, lausenschlangen_ and _coyotl_. Out of them all, only the _hundjager_ showed any kind of discipline. The others fought amongst themselves as often as they attacked the intruders. Between Lunas' magic, the SHIELD semi-automatic weapon Nick had been issued, and Monroes' _siegbarste_ gun, the three were able to make fairly good headway.

Then they came out into what Nick could only describe as a typical _wesen_ place. A large, low-ceilinged room, dimly lit and full to capacity with assorted _wesen_.

"Anyone else need clean shorts?" Monroe asked.

At the far end of the room was a platform with a large, throne-like chair on it. Standing in front of the chair, in flowing white robes, was a _hexenbiest._

"Well, well, my friends, this is our lucky day!" She called out. "Look, we've caught ourselves a Grimm!" And she pointed across the hall, directly at Monroe!

"What the Hell?" Nick exclaimed. Monroe _woged_. The other _wesen_ looked from him to the _hexenbiest _and murmured among themselves. No _wesen_ could have made that mistake!

"Excuse me." Luna said, then turned on the spot and vanished, to appear on the platform next to the _hexenbiest_. She gestured with her wand, the other woman shrieked, there was a bang, and suddenly the _hexenbiest _was gone!

In her place stood a woman in HYDRA battle gear. A woman with dark red hair, blue skin and yellow eyes.

"Raven Darkholme, I presume?" Luna asked. "Or do you prefer Mystique?"

"A mutant!" Nick yelled to the _wesen._ "You've been following a mutant!"

"She's been playing all of you!" Monroe roared. "That's Mystique, of the Brotherhood! She's sworn to wipe out all _wesen_ as well as humans!"

Monroe was being a little inventive – until a few months ago, Mystique had not known _wesen_ existed. But her reputation was well-known -well enough for the entire mob of _wesen_ to turn, in a body, and charge at her.

"I'll remember you, bitch!" Raven hissed at Luna, then turned and ran. Luna apparated out of the path of the mob and back to Nick and Monroe.

"I wonder if they'll catch her?" She said.

"God help anyone that does!" Nick stated. "She has quite the rep as a fighter, but her shapeshifting won't help, they'll have her scent, now. We'd better start looking for the others."

As they left, Luna asked Monroe: "Are the mating customs of _fuchsbauen_ very different from _blutbaden_, or do you just get on with it like humans do?"

She seemed genuinely puzzled when both men began howling with laughter.

Wolverine had always assumed that Harry Potters' wife would be no ordinary woman, even though he had only met her in domestic situations. As usual, his instincts had been accurate. Ginny was a powerful witch and a ferocious fighter.

He noted that while she seemed very skilled in a TKD style of close combat, she preferred to work from a distance. Like her brother, Bill, she apparated from vantage point to vantage point, sniping with her wand or with the crossbow she carried. Ginny was particularly accurate with the latter weapon – as good a shot as Ron, in fact. Her effectiveness was increased by the fact that she had clearly indulged in a little magical tinkering with the crossbow. It never needed reloading, for one thing. For another, the quarrels she fired seeemed to be imbued, at will, with all kinds of special effects, from violent explosions through masses of black, tangling cords to a soft glow that put everyone within three metres quietly to sleep.

Bill Weasley, on the other hand, was a pro. Nothing spectacular – he seemed to be skilled, rather than especially powerful – but nothing wasted. He kept up a steady stream of fireballs and reductor hexes, varied by the occasional precisely delivered Killing Curse.

The two of them ranged ahead or off to the flanks, taking out weapon emplacements, scattering large bodies of troops and, most importantly, dealing with wizards. HYDRA troopers -even the _wesen_ variants – gave Logan no trouble at all, but wizards were a different matter. The feral mutant had seldom been tested against wizards, even his former Alpha Flight team-mate, Shaman. He had no way of knowing how spells might affect him.

He did know that a normal Stun hex barely slowed him down, and that his adamantium-coated skeleton prevented him from being Transfigured. He also knew that a Cruciatus Curse would send him into a berserker rage. Beyond that, however, he didn't know how well his advanced physical abilities and healing factor would cope with magical injuries, and he was not anxious to find out!

So Wolverine concentrated on what he did best. Taking down anybody fool enough to get in his way!

During a lull, Bill asked: "Where are we headed?"

"I'm following the scent of that Source Vampire." Logan told them. "If he's a spook, he'll need to be gotten out of this. If he's a double, we need to take him out before he can do any damage."

"You've done this before, I can tell." Ginny remarked.

"Been doin' this for over a century." Logan growled. "Only I can't remember most of it!"

"Bit of a bugger, that!" Bill observed. "We've got people at St Mungos' who might help."

Logan shook his head. "If Charlie Xavier can't get in there, pal, nobody can!"

"You never know." Ginny argued. "You told Harry it'd been done _to_ you. The muggles who did it might've locked telepathy out, but I'll bet they never thought about magic! Worth a shot, bab!"

"Maybe." Logan allowed. "But right now, we got company, people!"

They carried on. The scent led them down a long corridor to a heavy steel door, which was firmly shut. Just as they reached it, a large group of troopers entered the corridor from behind them and began a steady advance.

"Take them alive!" An officer barked.

"You gotta be kiddin' me!" Logan said. "Stay behind me, you two. This is gonna get messy!"

Then a transparent panel slid down from the ceiling between them and the advancing enemy. A pale green mist suddenly erupted from hidden vents all along the corridor and the HYDRA troops dropped like flies.

"Bloody Hell!" Bill said. "What was that?"

"Some kinda nerve agent, I'd guess." Logan told him. "Which means we're bein' watched."

At that, the door behind them opened, and a cultured tenor voice called: "Do come in! I've been expecting you, though not as quickly as this. I'm impressed."

The man speaking was of the middle height and slender, with sleek dark hair, a sharp-featured face and coldly mocking eyes. He was wearing a dark, dapper suit, Italian loafers and was sipping from a glass of red wine.

"Come in, come in!" He repeated. "I'd offer you a glass of wine, but the surveillance loop won't last long, and we need to work quickly."

"And you would be?" Ginny asked.

He gave her a courtly bow. "Nikola Tesla, at your service. Genius, member of the Scholomance and supplier of inside information via my old colleague, Dr Helen Magnus, of whom you have doubtless heard."

"I heard of her." Logan grunted. "Took Charlie a year to convince her that mutants and Abnormals ain't the same."

"Dear Helen can be stubborn, upon occasion." Tesla said condescendingly. "But to business! The Scholomance were kind enough to provide me with sufficient resources to realise some of my more brilliant notions." He held up a flash drive. "I have all the plans and specs here. But I do not intend to leave my toys in the hands of these barbarians. Nor do I wish to be placed in the position of being a known traitor to my erstwhile allies. The Red Skull is not a pleasant person and Herr Blofeld is positively vulgar in his notions of justice.

"Therefore, in a moment or two, when the surveillance returns to real-time, you and I, Mr Logan, will engage in a spectacular brawl, at the conclusion of which, I shall press this large red button and disappear through that concealed door. The button will start off an impressive but harmless firework and smoke display, lasting some forty seconds, under cover of which you will exit via the trapdoor here. After that, the genuine self-destruct sequence will initiate. All clear?"

Bill murmured to his sister. "Is it me, or is this bloke a bit of a ponce?"

"Reminds me of Snape, or Draco." Ginny admitted.

Logan had been looking round the room, taking in angles, obstructions and the positions of the surveillance cameras. Then his eye lit on some old photographs on Teslas' work-station. Most of them were of the group known as 'The Five', of course, but one... Logan picked it up.

"Who is this guy?" He asked.

Tesla glanced at the photograph. "Canadian police detective from Nineteenth Century Toronto. Name of Murdoch. He was by way of being a friend and occasional colleague. Why? Did you know him?"

"I think I mighta done." Logan admitted. "Face is familiar, but..."

Teslas' eyes softened for a moment. "Take the photo." He said quietly. "It's a copy anyway, I still have the original. If it helps..."

Then he was back to his old self. "Time to begin our bout, Mr Logan. Sadly, we need to make it look good, so I'll have to use my claws."

At that, his eyes turned pitch-black, his mouth filled with fangs, and his nails became six-inch black claws.

"Claws?" Logan sneered. "Those aren't claws! _These_ are _claws_!"

The rout of the Scholomance was a matter of no small amusement to the Master and Rassilon as they watched from the Sanctum.

"This is more fun than I expected!" The Master crowed. "Potter and his gang turned the tables more quickly than we thought they would!"

"They had help." Rassilon pointed out. "Neither of us could have foreseen the Marines' intervention, or the form it would take. Not to mention the unexpected advent of the Eldar. Earth does not even know the Shadows were here, and the attention of UNIT and SHIELD is undivided."

"Ah, well, it hardly matters from our viewpoint." The Master noted. "We have everything we need to get what we want. Don't we, dear?"

This was addressed to the blonde woman who sat firmly shackled to a comfortable chair nearby.

"What you have," she told him, "is more trouble than you can possibly handle. My old man is going to make mincemeat out of the pair of you. When he's stopped laughing himself sick at all this." She jerked her head around the room, indicating the equipment. Someone had clearly been trying to emulate TimeLord technology with Earth equipment, and the results were sufficient to sear the eyeballs of all beholders!

"Your confidence is touching." Rassilon told her, from the portal in which he stood, now a solid reality rather than a flickering image. "But your husband remains bound to his ideal of non-violence. If you were free, or if Titus should come, we would have cause for fear. The Doctor we do not fear."

"Then you'd better start." River replied. "Because I hear the TARDIS now."

The familiar blue box materialised nearby, and shortly after that, the gangling figure of the Doctor emerged, carrying a Gladstone bag. He looked around him.

"Oooh!" He said. "Somebody's got a new hobby! Hobbies are cool, they keep you out of mischief. Hello, River, how are you?"

"I'm fine, sweetie." She told him. "But you took your time!"

"It's a Doctors' privilege to be late, isn't it?" He asked.

"No," she replied, "a ladys'. And you're no lady!"

"Well, neither are you!" He shot back. "So there!"

The Master had been checking his instruments. "He's got it." He told Rassilon. "Whatever's in that bag is radiating too much Dark Energy to be anything else."

"My Lord Doctor," Rassilon called, "when you have completed your domestic badinage, I believe we have business?"

"Business?" The Doctor asked. "Oh, yes, business! You know, you've tried this before, Rassilon, both of you have, and it didn't end well. I promise you, it won't this time. So why don't I just take River and this bag and go? You can go back to Gallifrey and face it like a man, and your friend here can try to do something useful with his life."

The Master laughed. "Oh, my old friend, you don't change!" He said almost fondly. "Talk, talk, talk. Stretch things out until the bitter end in the hope that something will happen! But this time it won't. Your human friends are tied up with all the forces HYDRA can muster, your formidable wife is in chains and at our mercy, and your pet Ultramarine is far away. This time, you're on your own!"

The Doctors' voice changed, as did his stance and his expression. As he tossed the bag at the Masters' feet, he spoke like the thousand-year-old veteran he was.

"I've always been on my own, _old friend_." He said. "Just remember, before you open that bag, who brought it here. I'm the Doctor. Think about that. Think about all the times your precious plots and plans have crashed down around your ears because of me. Think about that, and then decide whether or not you really want to open that bag!"

The Master hesitated, but Rassilon gave an impatient snort. "Does he have you cowed, my Lord Master?" He asked. "Has he been lucky so often that you begin to believe him superior? This was my plan, not yours. Is the Doctor a match for Rassilon? Everything the TimeLords were and are and shall be has its origin in me! Open the bag!"

"Take the money!" Murmured River, getting a grin from the Doctor.

The Master opened the bag, and reached inside. What he lifted out was not the Tesseract, but a gem. A faceted black jewel about an inch in diameter. The Master looked at it for a moment, then threw the thing away as if it burned him. It slid across the floor and came to a stop at the base of the Portal.

"The Back Jewel!" He hissed. "The Soul-Eater! You brought us the Soul-Eater!"

"Couldn't get the Sword." The Doctor told him. "But with all those Dark Energy artefacts floating around, did you really expect me to bring you just the one you wanted? When I could get one that suited my plans better? We'd better get ready to go, River."

River flicked off the shackles and stood up. "Just got to get my things, sweetie." She said. She walked across the room to a table and picked up her blaster and Vortex Manipulator. As she rejoined the Doctor, she told the Master conversationally, "Took me almost an hour to pick those locks, you're getting better."

"Do you think this changes anything?" Rassilon asked. "The Jewel is as powerful as the Tesseract. All we need do is to adjust the interface."

"Oh, it's not here as a power-source." The Doctor said. "Just a beacon. Something for Heimdall to aim at when I signal him."

With that, he held up his sonic screwdriver, and it flashed green. Almost at once a beam of brilliant light stabbed down through the roof as Heimdall, all-seeing guardian of the Bifrost, focused the energies of that awesome device on the portal in which Rassilon stood.

The Bifrost not only opens portals, it can also close and seal them. Forever. Rassilon leapt back with a howl of frustrated rage. The Master scrabbled clear as the Bifrost energies shook the room and equipment began to explode. River and the Doctor darted for the TARDIS.

"Come on!" The Doctor shouted to the Master. But then a portion of the ceiling fell in and made a barrier of red-hot rubble between them. River hesitated a second, then tossed her Vortex Manipulator across the barrier.

"I'll want that back!" She yelled. The Master grinned, nodded, and began to strap it on.

Then the room was empty. The Bifrost beam shut down, and all that was left were rubble and dying fires. Until the portal stirred again.

A circle, perhaps a foot across, appeared in the centre of the blank greyness, and a small creature flew through and settled beside where the Black Jewel still lay. It was a little black and white cat, equipped with a pair of neat black wings which it folded neatly. It looked around with intelligent yellow eyes before focusing on the Jewel. With care – and some evident distaste – it picked the Jewel up in its' mouth, took off and flew back through the portal, which closed behind it.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone**

**Chapter Eight: Fall of the Scholomance**

Stronger than talisman or rune,

Or vision conjured fron the Moon,

Or art of sorceror or seer,

Is one strong man who knows not fear.

(_The Scarlet Edda)_

Iron Man and Captain America stormed through the base like a pair of juggernauts. It was a long time since they had fought together, but the old rhythms soon asserted themselves. The immense power of Iron Mans' armour would have been wasted on individual soldiers, so Tony spent his time smashing through steel doors, disrupting security systems, destroying heavy weapons and taking down the occasional hastily-deployed Mech unit.

Cap, meanwhile, took care of the troops, in his own inimitable fashion. Tonys' new version of his beloved uniform was everything it promised to be, supporting his ruined spine and giving his muscular legs back all their old driving power. True, the protective strength of the lightweight chainmail which formed the upper part of the suit had been upgraded somewhat, but Cap hardly noticed. He had his shield back again, the red, white and blue vibranium disc that had been his battle-companion throughout his career. It felt good.

Steve had been worried that he might have gotten a little rusty since his enforced retirement from active duty. He need not have been. His battle-reflexes were too well ingrained to fade, and his skills were unblunted. When he slung his shield, it flew as true as it ever had. When he charged his opponents, they still seemed to move in slow motion, still went down under his pile-driving punches, still made that satisfying thump when they hit the ground.

The rumour of these ever-advancing Avengers went ahead of them, so that after a while, the HYDRA troops seemed to decide that discretion was indeed the better part of valour, and melted away like snow in springtime. Iron Man landed beside his colleague.

"Almost a reunion!" He remarked.

Cap nodded. "It's good to know Hawk and Tasha are around somewhere." He allowed. "But I miss Blondie and Greenskin!"

"Well, Thor's on watch in case these guys have something nastier planned." Tony pointed out. "As for Bruce, nobody's seen him in over a year. Last I heard, he was holed up in a monastery in the Himalayas or somewhere. Taking lessons from some Tulku guy."

"Hope it works out for him, this time." Cap said. "Now what do we do?"

"Follow our noses." Tony said. "They were defending this area for a reason!"

With that, he used his repulsors to blow away the door in front of them, only to see it shimmer and vanish before the fragments hit the floor. Beyond it was large, empty area, like an arena, with bleachers around it.

"Well, I guess even HYDRA goons need a sports club!" Iron Man remarked. But like Caps', his attention was fixed on the two figures in the centre of the arena.

One was a man. A tall, dark man with saturnine features, wearing a black cloak and holding a staff. The figure behind him, however, was not remotely human. It stood about fifteen feet tall and was shaped rather like a gorilla, with short rear legs and longer forelegs that ended in humanlike hands. It rested with one hand on the floor, while the other grasped a tree-trunk that clearly served it as a club. The face was also apelike, with a flat nose and protruding jaw, but its eyes were yellow and pupiless, glowing with an inner fire.

"Ah, crap!" Tony said. "A Troll!"

"That's not like the Trolls Harry told me about!" Cap noted.

"That's because it's not an Earth Troll." Tony said. "That is an honest-to-goodness, wild Fae, Mountain Troll out of the Nevernever. If the Summer or Winter Courts knew it was here, somebody would be in a whole pack of trouble!"

The Troll, clearly tired of waiting, suddenly reared up on its hind legs, lifted its club over its head, and charged down on them with a thunderous bellow. The club crashed to the floor where Cap had been standing, shattering the wood and becoming momentarily stuck. As the Troll snarled and tried to haul it free, Tony yelled to Cap, "I've got big an' ugly here! You deal with Dracula!"

Cap knew when he was outclassed. He only hoped the Troll did, too. He turned to face the man in the cloak, and as he did so, a name came to his mind, along with the file he had seen.

"Justin DuMorne." He said. "My friend Harry Dresden will be interested to know you're still alive."

DuMorne shrugged. "He will find out in due course." He said. "But you, Colonel Rogers, will not survive to tell him."

He gestured with the staff, and a gout of fire hurtled out of the end at Cap, who flung up his shield. The shield blocked the flames - it didn't even get hot – but the force drove Cap back several feet. Dropping into his famous Olympic crouch, Cap began to charge his opponent. DuMorne flourished his staff and a blast of freezing wind slammed into the charging Avenger. Undeterred, Cap continued to advance. DuMorne intensified the spell, the wind reaching near-hurricane force, and now filled with splinters of razor sharp ice that would have shredded any other clothing, cutting the wearer to ribbons. Cap raised his shield to cover his face and drove forward.

Another man would have been driven back. A lesser man might have surrendered, tried another attack. Captain America drove on, determined, unbreakable. Surrender was not an option, the thought of failure never entered his mind. Against everything the wizard could do, he came close enough to knock the staff aside. The wind dropped at once, and Cap drove his fist into DuMornes' shocked face. As the man hit the floor, out cold, Cap turned to see if Tony needed any help.

The Troll was fast, for its' size, ferocious and cunning. But it was still slower than Iron Man, it couldn't fly, and was actually no stronger than its opponent – a situation it was clearly unfamiliar with. Tony ducked under the swinging club and swung his armoured fist into the Trolls' midsection, knocking the wind out of it, then lifted it, soaring a few feet into the air and throwing it across the arena. The beast crashed into the bleachers, demolishing them.

It rose out of the wreckage with a bellow and swung its club at the ground. A blue bolt like lightning shot across the floor at Iron Man. Tony grinned inside his helmet as the suit absorbed the energy, then unleashed his chest-beam. This time the Troll was thrown back to slam against the solid wall. It slid down, then slumped forward, panting and grunting, but still struggling to get up. Iron Man strode over and brought his linked hands down on its head, knocking it out. Immediately, it faded and vanished, back into the Nevernever.

"Well," he remarked to Cap, "that was fun!"

"Best workout I've had in years!" Cap admitted. "Let's go see if the others have left something for us!"

With Amy and Rory to protect, Barton, Natasha and Neville were emphasising stealth and caution over combat. The two SHIELD agents were used to this, and skilled at it, but they were surprised at the competence shown by the nervous-looking wizard. Neville moved like a cat, fully aware of his surroundings and the people with him. He missed nothing, evaded everything and, where necessary, disposed of any opposition with silent efficiency. The two 'civilians' were also a surprise – making no unnecessary noise, not asking silly questions and obeying orders without fuss.

When they holed up for a rest, before making the last dash to the Defence Core, Tasha asked Neville: "Where did you learn to do this? I heard you were a schoolteacher?"

"Professor of Herbology." He corrected her. "Hogwarts is no ordinary school, Ms Romanov. Hardly a safe environment. At least not for anyone who went there at the same time as Harry Potter!"

"I read about that." Tasha told him. "The Second Wizarding War, they called it, right? Harry Potter was going toe-to-toe with some character called Voldemort?"

"Right at the end of it, he did." Neville replied. "But there was an awful lot went on before that. In the last year, Harry was on the run, Voldemort was in charge of things, and he had a couple of really nasty thugs running the school. I sort of ended up leading the resistance inside Hogwarts. You learn to be sneaky and careful really fast!"

"I'll just bet!" Tasha agreed. "Y'know, I'm pretty sure SHIELD could use a guy like you. Ever think of joining up? I'd put in a good word..."

Neville shook his head. "Not my style, luv. Like you said, I'm a schoolteacher. And – no offence – that's a bloody sight more important than being a super-spy!"

"Amen to that!" Tasha said fervently. "No offence taken."

Barton was saying to Amy and Rory; "You guys doing OK?"

"Oh, brilliant!" Rory replied, with more than a little sarcasm. "We just love these little outings. You meet such interesting people who want to kill you!"

Amy mock-punched him. "Don't you ever stop moaning?" She asked, then turned to Barton. "It's no problem. When you travel with the Doctor, you get used to this kind of thing. At least it's not Cybermen or Daleks or Weeping Angels."

"Weeping Angels?" Barton asked.

"You don't want to know." Amy told him.

"OK." He said. "Now look, we've got open territory between us and that door, and it has to be locked. Tasha, you got charges?"

"Won't need 'em." Neville said. "Opening Spell. Get me to the door and we're through."

"Good enough." Barton allowed. "You two get Amy and Rory there. I'll give cover from here and just hope I don't run out of arrows."

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" Neville chided himself, then examined Bartons' quiver. "This is in two parts, right?"

Barton nodded. "The upper part holds the shafts, and rotates automatically to bring the next to the drawing position. The lower section's controlled by the bow, and turns to bring whichever tip I want to use in line with the shaft."

"Muggles!" Neville sighed. "Never make it simple if you can make it complicated for yourselves!" He tapped both sections lightly with his wand. "There! The shafts will replenish every time you reach the last one. As for the tips, every time you use one, it'll be replaced with an identical one. That do you?"

"Err, yeah. If it works." Barton couldn't help adding.

"Oh, it'll work!" Neville told him. "May not be Hermione, but not an utter incompetent, y'know!"

Tasha held out her twin pistols. "Can you do the same for these?"

Neville shook his head. "Sorry, not allowed." He said. "An FBS agent did that on a Tommy gun for one of Eliot Ness' people back in the 1920's. Bloke overdid things, gun got too hot and jammed in the firing position. It's locked in a special room at Chicago FBS HQ to this day, still firing!

"Putting infinite ammo in a firearm has been illegal for wizards ever since. If I'd thought, though, I could've doubled or tripled the capacity of your clips before we came out. Too late now!"

"Then we go with what we have." Barton decided. "You'll have to wait for cowboy movie guns, Tash! Let's move!"

Barton's first couple of arrows were smokescreens. He followed them up with stun grenade tips, then concentrated on making sure that the two machine-gun nests that covered the approach to the door were out of action. He was happy to note that Neville's magic did exactly what it said on the pack!

Protected by Bubble-head Charms, the other four made a dash for the door. They met very little opposition – Barton was taking out most of the HYDRA guards before they could orient themselves. The few who did stumble into the right place at the wrong time were no match for Tasha or Neville.

The door being reached in short order, Neville tapped on it with his wand and invoked: "_Alohomora!_" He and Tasha took one glance through the door, then ducked back, pushing Amy and Rory clear.

The room beyond was large, but even so it was all but filled by its' final guard. A single HYDRA trooper, mounted in a medium Mech unit, opened fire just a second too late with his twin miniguns.

"Flippin' 'eck!" Said Neville, who was occasionally moved to strong language. "What d'you call that when it's at home?"

"Medium Tactical Combat Mech Unit." Tasha told him. "Armoured all over, including the cab. Two miniguns, grappling claws, two grenade tubes and at least one rocket launcher." She glanced round the door, drawing another volley as she ducked back. "He hasn't got much room to move in there, but then again, he just has to stand there. If we could draw him out, maybe Clint could nail him with an armour-piercing arrow?"

"No time, no need." Neville told her. Then he threw himself across the doorway, pointing his wand as he did so. Instead of the devastating burst of gunfire she expected, Tasha heard a kind of wobbly thump, and a strangled yelp.

"Sorted!" Neville remarked, climbing to his feet. Tasha signalled Rory and Amy to keep low, then joined Neville. There was a quivering mass of – _something_ – in the middle of the floor. It was making convulsive movements and seemed to be swearing rather a lot, in a muffled voice. It took a few seconds before Tasha began to recognise various parts of the Mech. They seemed oddly jumbled and flexible.

"_Bozhe Moi_!" She said. "What did you do?"

"Oh, I just turned the whole thing into rubber." Neville said. "So now we're here, what do we do?"

"Well, we go in, if we can get that mess out of the way." Tasha said.

Neville shrugged and levitated the rubber Mech and its', by now thoroughly demoralised, occupant out of the room. Barton joined them and they went in. The room was crammed with high-end technology that none of them could make sense of.

"How are we supposed to shut this down?" Barton wanted to know.

"We're not." Rory told him as a familiar whirring noise filled the air. "_He_ is!"

The Doctor and River emerged from the TARDIS. "Ah! Ponds!" The Doctor said. "Just in time! No problems getting here?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary." Rory replied dourly.

His sarcasm was lost on the Doctor, who settled his red fez more firmly on his head and said. "Excellent! Now, have you got those crystals? Good.

"The thing is, the Master gave away a few TimeLord secrets to make this place more secure. But of course, I know which ones. Now, the system would never have let me past the door with these crystals, but you two could just wander in!

"So if I put this one here, and this one there, and then..."

He activated his sonic screwdriver, and every screen and instrument in the room went dark.

"Right!" The Dcotor said. "All done. Come along, Ponds! Neville, tell Harry I said hello! River, are you coming?"

"Not right now, sweetie." She told him. "I've got some things to clear up here!" She kissed him goodbye, very passionately, then joined Neville and the others.

Just as the TARDIS faded away, there was a crackle in everyones' ear and a pleasant female voice announced: "Communication net back online."

A moment later, Rons' voice sounded. "Status report. Neville?"

"In the Defence Core, job done, Amy and Rory have gone with the Doctor, but River is with us."

"Roger that. Cap?"

"Here, Sector Nine. Tony and I have DuMorne in custody."

"Nice. Nick?"

"Heading to Sector Three. Opposition seems minimal. Most of the _wesen_ have packed it in, they're busy chasing Mystique around. She was conning them and they seem annoyed about that!"

"Wonder why?" Ron answered. "Logan?"

"All safe. Our spy is clear with his cover intact. Heading to Sector One."

"Ok. Dante?"

"Duncan and I have secured Hangar 2 in Sector Two, we've got transport outta here. Afraid Kratos didn't make it, guys."

"Fuck!" Ron swore. "I liked him! Oh, well. Arabella Riddle and Baron Mordo are out of the picture, and the magical defences are gone. We rendezvous at that hangar, and we do it fast. I'm calling time on this one!

"Major Weasley to Combined Forces Command, defence grid is down, I repeat, defence grid is down. You are weapons free and clear to attack. Bring the rain."

Somewhere in the bowels of the base, three men moved down a corridor at an unhurried pace.

Arkham surveyed his two companions, his heterochromic eyes cold in his scarred face. "So much for the Scholomance!" He sneered. "A mistake to work with muggles, as I suspected."

"I would have thought, Herr Arkham," the Red Skull commented, "that as a Squib, you would be less disrespectful of what is, after all, your own kind!"

Arkahm halted, facing his erstwhile allies in fury. "You may call me a Squib, as those other fools do, but my magic is as powerful as Mordos'. The wizard world may sneer at ritual magic, but that is only their fear of its' power. It is a fear you should share!"

Blofelds' pistol was small, and well silenced, so it made barely a pop as he put two bullets into Arkhams' heart. He and Schmidt stepped round the corpse and carried on.

"He was an irritating man." Blofeld commented. "What now, Herr Skull?"

The Red Skull laughed. "We are HYDRA. Cut off one head, and two more grow! What of you, Heinrich?"

"My organisation is still intact, of course. SPECTRE still has all its' resources, and we will not go short of clients." Blofeld answered complacently. "We will, of course, be at your service, under the usual terms. But I would ask you, Johann, that in future you keep me in the loop. Your abduction of Mr Potter from under my assassins' nose was well done, but my people are specialists, and could have managed the matter better."

"It is not my habit to apologise, Heinrich." The Skull observed. "But in this case I accept your argument. You have no immediate plans, then?"

"Not as such." Blofeld allowed. "But I will at some point have to devote some personal attention to Ronald Weasley. Arabellas' death was no less than cold-blooded murder, and a reply is required."

"Were you two...?" The Skull asked.

"We had become...close." Blofeld admitted. "Close enough that her death matters to me a great deal."

"I trust you will do nothing precipitate, Heinrich." Schmidt cautioned. "My dealings with Herr Potter are at a delicate stage. I wish to see how the seeds we have planted germinate. Will he face the truth or hide from it? His reaction and actions will tell me if he is the kind of man I believe him to be. The death of his best friend at an early stage in his recruitment might send matters awry."

"Oh, I'm in no hurry." Blofeld assured him. "As the Spanish proverb has it 'Revenge is a dish best eaten cold.' I can wait.

"This is where we part ways, yes? Good luck, Johann. You know how to reach me if you need SPECTREs' services."

The Red skull gave a short bow and clicked his heels. "Many thanks for your assistance, Heinrich. I have made the transfer of funds, you will find you have been paid the agreed sum. This setback was not your fault, and you have earned it. I may well call upon you again, soon.

"Hail HYDRA!"

Dante and Duncan had commandeered a HYDRA transport plane. Duncan gestured urgently to get everyone aboard, and Dante started the take-off before the ramp was pulled up.

Harry made his way forward to the cockpit and slipped into the co-pilots' seat. "How's it going, Dante?"

"OK." The demon-hunter replied. "Good to see you, pal. I was afraid we were one short back there for a while!"

"We are." Harry observed grimly. "What happened with Kratos?"

"He held the line and died as he'd have wanted to." Dante said firmly. "He was one of us, Harry, and guys like us don't die old, lying on the tartan rug in a care-home, just after pissing ourselves again. He took a lot of bad guys with him, and if Valhalla is real, he's there now!"

Harry nodded, then gave his friend a sharp look. "You OK?" He asked.

Dante grimaced. "I took some hits. I've had a healing star but I need to rest. Could you?"

Harry had learned to fly planes after his mission with the League, and now he settled into the seat and took the controls. "I have the aircraft." He said formally.

"She's yours." Dante replied, then leaned back with a sigh and began to doze. Harry switched on the radio.

"Attention all UNIT and SHIELD forces. This is Hotel Lima Whisky three-niner transmitting on UNIT Tactical frequency and in the blind Guard. This flight is a HYDRA transport but is now in friendly hands. I say again, Hotel Lima Whisky three-niner is not hostile. Over."

"Hotel Lima Whisky three-niner, this is UNIT Sky-Carrier _Dauntless_. Please identify and verify. Over."

"_Dauntless_, this is Lieutenant-Colonel Harry James Potter, verify Gryffindor One. Over."

"Roger, Gryffindor One, you are verified. Welcome back, Colonel Potter. Continue current heading and altitude. Make for the beacon at the Staging Area and await Traffic Control instructions. Over and out."

In the back of the plane, Ginny was worrying about how Lily would take the news about her beloved Uncle Kratos and River was doing her best to reassure her. The rest were talking in the desultory fashion of tired people.

Except for Luna, who was telling Ron and Hermione: "Yes, according to Monroe, _fuchsbauen_ and _blutbaden_ are nothing but mammals, so they do it like they do it on Discovery Channel. I'll have to find out more about this Discovery Channel. I don't know much about muggle television, but the word's half Greek and half Latin, so nothing good can come of it, I'm afraid."

"Probably not, Luna, dear." Hermione said as seriously as she could. If her face was pink, Rons' was a delicate shade of purple, but they both waited until Luna settled down for a nap before succumbing to a severe fit of the giggles. Some things never change – Luna Lovegood being one of them!


	9. Chapter 9

**The Dark Cycle 3: The Stick and the Stone**

**Chapter Nine: Requiem**

"Go tell the Spartans, passerby,

That here, by Spartan law, we lie."

(Simonides' Epitaph at Thermopylae)

"I'm absolutely sure it was a disinformation exercise." Harry told Kingsley Shacklebolt. "I don't doubt that there are wizards who work for HYDRA, just as some work for SHIELD and some for SPECTRE.

"But the idea of a large number of wizards being HYDRA agents, even sleepers, is just a little too much. They overplayed their hand."

Kingsley nodded. "I suppose they used Dumbledores' image because they knew you'd distrust Snape, even if he's more likely to have been HYDRA!"

"Would've been a mistake in either case." Harry pointed out. "I knew both of them to well to be taken in by a simulacram!

"No, the idea was to send me flying off on a wild-goose chase looking for HYDRA agents all over our world and leaving the real HYDRA to get on with whatever plans they have. So I intend to do just the opposite. That way, if and when they do pull something, I won't be distracted."

"Good enough." Kingsley allowed. "What about the Elder Wand? HYDRA seemed keen for you to have it."

"I think that was only while they had a hope of getting the Tesseract." Harry told him. "It seems to have a relationship with it – the Wand may be a Dark Energy artefact itself, after all. We really know very little about it apart from myths.

"But if HYRA could have recruited me, it seems I could have used the Elder Wand to channel the Tesseracts' magical energies just as Tesla and Schmidts' technology would have harnessed its' physical ones. If I took the Wand, but didn't join up, they were counting on DuMorne or Mordo to defeat me and claim the Wand for themselves, I imagine. Either way, it's back where it belongs, now."

"That's a relief." Kingsley said. "Are you going to beef up security at the White Tomb?"

"Yes." Harry replied. "But not in an obvious way. No point advertising!"

"Quite. Back to work, then?"

"In a couple of days." Harry said. "Personal matters to take care of, first."

On the slopes of Mount Taygetus, overlooking the ruins of ancient Sparta, in the hour before dawn, they brought Kratos home.

The pyre was laid where the first rays of the sun would strike. It was of olive and laurel wood, soaked in oil and sprinkled with fragrant herbs. Nearby stood a small group of men and women, those who had joined Kratos in his last campaign. From an unseen source, slow music began to play: _Nimrod the Hunter_ from the _Enigma Variations._

The cortege approached. The bier was borne by Ronald Weasley, Dante Sparda, Steve Rogers and Duncan MacLeod; mighty men all, and none too few, for the Fallen was no easy burden. Before it came a tall, powerful Black man – Teal'c, former First Prime of Apophis and member of SG1. Genetic testing had shown that at least one of Kratos' parents had been a Jafar, and Teal'c was here to honour a brother. He bore the hoplon, the great round shield of the Spartan soldier, charged with its simple red chevron. Beside the bier walked Ginny Potter and River Song, one on each side, wearing simple white dresses and sandals, gold circlets around their braided hair, each bearing a torch. Behind came Harry Potter, in full Auror robes, bearing the blades Kratos had used in his last fight.

As the music reached its stately climax, Harry levitated the bier onto the pyre. Kratos lay wrapped in the scarlet war-cloak of his people, the laurel wreath of the victor on his brow. Teal'c placed the hoplon over him, and Harry laid the knives by his side, still radiating cold in the darkness.

Then they stepped back to join the half-circle about the pyre. The sun suddenly rose above Mount Parnon to the East, the light spilling across the plateau of ancient Laconia, revealing the landscape in all its rugged, unforgiving beauty.

Kratos had been Spartan to the core – he neither used nor appreciated excessive speech. So Harry spoke the simple words of remembrance- the only words that anyone would speak in this ceremony:

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old.

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun, and in the morning,

We will remember them."

As he fell silent, the sun reached the pyre. The magical daggers burst into ferocious flame, as if to honour their last wielder. Ginny and River thrust their torches into the pyre while Hermione, acknowledged mistress of fire-magic, bent her will on the flames.

The fire was hot, and fierce, and within a very short time, the pyre and its burden were reduced to ashes. Only the daggers remained, still glowing, in the centre. Luna levitated them out and placed them back in their case to return to Torchwood. Then Harry cast a charm that brought the ashes whirling up like a dust-devil. Within moments, that which had been Kratos, Ghost of Sparta, had been separated from the rest. Harry sealed his friends' ashes in a simple bronze urn. All traces of the rest were obliterated, and a moment later, the mountainside was empty.

There was a funeral feast at The Burrow, and Molly outdid herself. Kratos, frugal as he may have been in his daily life, was a man who would do full justice to a good meal when occasion served, and this was Mollys' way of honouring him. So they honoured him until even Ron settled back and admitted himself stuffed!

Harry took the urn home to Godrics' Hollow, and there the Spartan who had defeated monsters, demigods and Gou'a'ould found his final home in a sunny corner of an English garden. Harry buried the urn at the foot of a wall, replacing part of the original drystone with a slab of Greek marble, on which he etched in the letters of Ancient Greece and modern England the single word: KRATOS.

Lily Potter claimed that spot in the garden for her own. As a child, she planted pretty, colourful flowers there every spring. Later, as her knowledge grew and she matured, she planted laurel and myrtle, and at the last, a small olive tree. To her family, she remained the same bright, loving girl, frequently breaking into the merry laughter that had so entranced her 'uncle'. But in her outer life, she became a modern Spartan, frugal in her habits, disciplined in her studies and work, sparse and witty in her speech. She always wore the pendant Kratos had gifted her.

Such was Kratos' memorial and monument, and he would not have wished for better.

Three men in a bright, airy room. Harry Potter turned to the short, plump, grizzled man with thick glasses, handing him a long wooden box.

"It's wizard-locked, so none of your people can open it, unless you start recruiting wizards. It can't be neutralised, unfortunately, but yours is the last place anyone will look for it.

"Thanks for doing this, Artie."

Artie shrugged. "It's what we do. The Warehouse is for storing things. Not usually things like this, we deal with things that get magical by accident, normally.

"I was surprised when the Regents agreed to help out. I didn't even know they knew about you guys!"

Harry laughed. "They've always known!" He said. "Couldn't have Warehouse agents falling over Misuse of Muggle Artefacts people every five minutes, could we?"

"That kinda makes sense." Artie admitted. "But they coulda told me! If I'd known there were wizards..."

"It would've been one more thing to worry about!" Harry told him. "Mrs Fredericks told me you're cantankerous enough as it is, Artie!"

Artie snorted and put the box into his bag. "I'd better get going." He said. "Got a flight to catch!"

He shook hands with Harry and left. Harry turned to the other man, who had watched silently.

"Ok, that's the Elder Wand dealt with! Like I told Artie, nobody will look for it in Warehouse 13. that's a muggle place." He studied his companion carefully.

"Are you up for this?" He asked.

The other man gave a short bark of laughter. "Ready for a new job, Harry? One that has a much bigger salary, a company car, some status and a total lack of soul-crushing boredom? I've been ready for that for the last ten years, old friend!"

"Wouldn't have thought the salary mattered to you." Harry pointed out.

The reply was a wry one. "You're a Dad, aren't you? When you've got kids, there's never enough money coming in compared to what goes out!

"But I do wonder why. Why me, for one thing. Then why at all, given your report to Kingsley?"

Harry shrugged. "I couldn't tell Kingsley the truth, for a lot of reasons. If I'm right, we're all being watched, and if I'm honest, I just don't know how deep or far this goes.

"As for you, who else? Nobody, and I mean nobody, would suspect us of working together. I always thought something like this might happen, which is why I recruited and trained you on the quiet. My ace in the hole, to use a muggle phrase you might not recognise."

"I'm familiar with poker, Harry. My good lady is rather fond of cards, and we play a great deal.

"But you seem surprisingly willing to believe this of Dumbledore, of all people!"

"It's like I told Kingsley." Harry replied. "I knew the man. Better than most people think. You, me and Ron are the only ones that have read his Barsoomian manuscript, for instance. Reading between the lines of that is quite the eye-opener. Plus there's a lot of blank spaces in his life-story. Periods where he goes quiet, at least publicly, which for a man of such acknowledged brilliance, widely respected and sought-after, is more than a bit odd.

"Then there are the things he didn't do, or say, that he should have. Inconsistencies. It's not just him either. You know Ron, how he sees patterns. Well, he's been getting itchy for a while now, seeing bits of things that don't fit, or that do fit, but in the wrong places.

"No, Dumbledore was telling me the truth. HYDRA has penetrated the wizard world, and I want you to find out how deeply, and to root it out, with the help of an organisation that knows more about HYDRA than any other."

"Well, I'll do my best." The other man promised. "Seems odd to be the one out in the field, doing the hard work while you pretend to be business as usual. Wouldn't it have been easier for you to stay dead? Then you could have done it yourself."

Harry shook his head. "Wouldn't have worked. HYDRA knew I was still alive, remember. They'd have had an eye out for me, and the most sophisticated cover has its limits. In fact, the more elaborate the cover, the easier it is to compromise.

"In your case, a secondment to the FBS is just what it looks like, and it's easy to maintain."

"Makes sense." The other allowed. "Though I still think you're barking mad! Always have been, if it comes to that."

"I was fine till I met you!" Harry retorted. "Now bugger off! Don't want to be late on your first day!"

They shook hands. Harry left by the door that Artie had used. The other man turned to another door. A heavy steel door equipped with all the latest biometric and other security measures. He placed his long-fingered hand on the palm plate which simultaneously scanned his prints and registered his DNA. He looked into a lens that examined and matched the retinal patterns of one cold grey eye. Finally, a pleasant female voice requested "Voiceprint verification, please."

He leaned toward the microphone and spoke in a tone of mild disbelief:

"Draco Malfoy." He said. "Agent of SHIELD."


End file.
